- 

' 


Illlllll 


New  'L'ork 


Glimpses  of  Fifty  years 


®f)e  Autolnograpfjg 

OF 

AN  AMERICAN  WOMAN 

BY 

Prances  E.  Willard.  ^ 


WRITTEN  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  NATIONAE  WOMAN’S  CHRISTIAN 

TEMPERANCE  UNION. 


INTRODUCTION  BY  HANNAH  WHITALL  SMITH. 


“Nothing  makes  life  dreary  but  lack  of  motive.” 


PUBLISHED  BY  THE 

Roman's  temperance  f^ufificafion  ^tasodafion. 

H.  J.  SMITH  &  CO. 

CHICAGO,  PHILADELPHIA,  KANSAS  CITY,  OAKLAND,  CAL. 

General  Agents  for  United  States,  Canada ,  Australia ,  Sandwich  Islands. 


COPYRIGHTED  BY  THE 

Woman’s  Temperance  Publication  Association. 

1889. 


EX  PLAN  A  TOR  V. 


We  wish  it  distinctly  understood  that  Miss  Willard's  responsibility  for  this  book  ended 
when  she  furnished  her  manuscript. 

She  repeatedly  requested  that  but  one  picture  of  herself  be  given.  This ,  however ,  would 
leave  her  out  of  official  groups  where  she  is  the  central  fgure,  and  to  preserve  the  u n ity  of 
these,  also  as  illustrative  of  altogether  different  phases  of  her  life,  we  have  arranged  the 
pictures  as  we  believed  the.  interests  of  the  book  and  the  preference  of  the  public  warranted  us 
in  doing. 

It  should  also  be  stated  that  Miss  Willard  wrote  twelve  hundred  pages  that  had  to  be  cut 
down  to  seven  hundred,  and  in  so  doing,  scores  of  names,  facts  and  allusions,  all  of  which 
she  was  especially  desirous  to  have  in  this  book,  had  to  be  omitted.  To  this  omission  the  author 
has  kindly  agreed,  having  written  rapidly  ana  without  calculating  for  the  space  required  by 
this  overplus  of  manuscript. 

Woman’s  Temperance  Publication  Association. 


Chicago,  Feb.  22, 1 889. 


<bj  l»  ft 


39280 


©rtriratotg. 

•V/  W^v/^  VV_V- 

There  is  one 

“  Face  that  duly  as  the  sun, 

Rose  up  for  me  since  life  begun;” 

ONE  ROYAL  HEART  THAT  NEVER  FAILED  ME  YET. 

TO  MOTHER, 

As  a  Birthday  Gift, 
on 

January  3,  1889, 

THE  EIGHTY-EIETH  ANNIVERSARY  OF  HER  UNDAUNTED  LIFE, 

I  Dedicate 

$ 

HER  ELDEST  DAUGHTER’S  SELF-TOLD  STORY. 


HOU,  under  Satan's  fierce  control , 

* — J Shall  Heaven  on  thee  its  rest  bestow  f 
I  knozv  not ,  but  I  know  a  soul 

That  might  have fall'n  as  darkly  low. 

1 1  judge  thee  not,  what  depths  of  ill 
Soe '  er  thy  feet  have  found  or  trod  ; 

I  know  a  spirit  and  a  will 

As  weak ,  but  for  the  help  of  God. 

‘  Shalt  thou  with  full  day-lab'rers  stand, 

Who  hardly  canst  have  pruned  one  vine  f 
I  know  not,  but  I  know  a  hazid 
With  an  infirmity  like  thine. 

‘  Shalt  thou,  who  hadst  with  scoffers  part, 

£  'er  wear  the  crown  the  Christian  wears 
I  know  not,  but  I  know  a  heart 

As  fliniy ,  but  for  tears  a?id  prayers. 

‘  Have  mercy,  O  thou  Crucified  ! 

For  even  while  I  name  Thy  name, 

I  know  a  tongue  that  might  have  lied, 

Like  Peter' s,  a?id  am  filled  with  shame." 


t 


introduction. 

I  have  been  asked  by  the  publishers  of  this  Autobiography 
to  write  the  Introduction.  I  am  very  glad  to  be  asked.  There  is 
no  woman  in  the  world  whose  book  I  would  rather  introduce  than 
that  of  my  friend  and  co-worker,  Frances  E.  Willard.  From  the 
first  hour  of  my  acquaintance  with  her,  now  more  than  sixteen 
years  ago,  she  has  been  to  me  the  embodiment  of  all  that  is 
lovely,  and  good,  and  womanly,  and  strong,  and  noble  and  ten¬ 
der,  in  hutften  nature.  She  has  been  my  queen  among  women, 
and  I  have  felt  it  to  be  one  of  the  greatest  privileges  of  my  life 
to  call  her  my  friend.  I  have  been  inspired  by  her  genius,  I 
have  been  cheered  by  her  sympathy,  I  have  been  taught  by  her 
wisdom,  I  have  been  led  onward  and  upward  by  her  enthusiastic 
faith.  We  have  met  on  almost  ever}^  point  of  human  interest, 
and  have  been  together  in  jojr  and  in  sorrow,  in  success  and  in 
apparent  failure  ;  she  has  been  a  member  of  my  household  for 
weeks  together,  and  I  have  seen  her  tried  by  prosperity  and 
flattery,  by  misunderstanding  and  evil  report ;  and  always  and 
everywhere  she  has  been  the  same  simple-hearted,  fair-minded 
Christian  woman,  whose  one  sole  aim  has  been  to  do  the  will  of 
'  God  as  far  as  she  knew  it,  and  to  bear  whatever  of  apparent  ill 
He  may  have  permitted  to  come  upon  her,  with  cheerful  submis¬ 
sion,  as  being  His  loving  discipline  for  the  purpose  of  making  her 
what,  above  all,  she  longs  to  be,  a  partaker  of  His  holiness. 

In  regard  to  her  public  work  she  has  seemed  to  me  one  of 
God’s  best  gifts  to  the  American  women  of  the  nineteenth  cen¬ 
tury,  for  she  has  done  more  to  enlarge  our  sympathies,  widen  our 
outlook,  and  develop  our  gifts,  than  any  man,  or  any  other  woman 
of  her  time.  Every  movement  for  the  uplifting  of  humanity  has 
found  in  her  a  cordial  friend  and  active  helper.  Every  field  of 
inquiry  or  investigation  has  shared  in  her  quick,  intelligent  sym¬ 
pathy,  and  she  has  been  essentially  American  in  this,  that  she 
is  always  receptive  of  new  ideas,  without  being  frightened  at 

fv) 


vi 


Introduction. 


their  newness.  One  saying  of  liers  is  eminently  characteristic — 
that  we  have  no  more  need  to  be  afraid  of  the  step  just  ahead 
of  us  than  we  have  to  be  afraid  of  the  one  just  behind  us  ;  and, 
acting  on  this,  she  has  always  given  all  new  suggestions  a  can¬ 
did  and  fair-minded  consideration,  and  has  kept  in  the  forefront 
of  every  right  movement,  whether  in  the  world  of  ideas  or  the 
world  of  things.  I  have  called  her  to  myself,  many  times,  our 
‘  ‘  see-er,  ’  ’  because,  like  all  seers,  she  seems  to  have  an  insight 
into  things  not  visible  to  the  eyes  of  most.  We  who  know 
her  best  have  so  much  confidence,  born  of  experience,  in  these 
insights  of  hers,  that  I  am  not  sure  but  that  something  once  said 
about  us  laughingly  is,  after  all,  pretty  nearly  the  truth  :  that  “  if 
Frances  Willard  should  push  a  plank  out  into  the  ocean,  and 
should  beckon  the  white  ribbon  women  to  follow  her  out  to  the 
end  of  it,  they  would  all  go  without  a  question.”  The  reason  is 
that  we  have  discovered  that  her  planks  always  turn  out  to  be 
bridges  across  to  delectable  islands  which  she  has  discerned  while 
yet  they  wTere  invisible  to  us. 

How  such  a  woman  came  to  be,  is  told  us  in  this  book,  and 
it  is  a  story  that  will,  I  believe,  be  an  example  and  an  inspiration 
to  thousands  of  her  fellow-women,  who  will  learn  here  the  vast 
possibilities  of  a  pure  and  holy  womanhood,  consecrated  to  God 
and  to  the  service  of  humanity. 

How  this  story  came  to  be  told  is  as  follows  :  As  president 
for  nearly  ten  years  of  the  great  organization  called  the  National 
Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union,  numbering  more  than 
two  hundred  thousand  women,  scattered  all  over  the  United 
States,  from  Maine  to  Texas,  and  from  Florida  to  Alaska,  Frances 
E.  Willard  has  won  a  love  and  loyalty  that  no  other  woman,  I 
think,  has  ever  before  possessed.  It  was  natural  that  the  many 
members  of  this  widespread  organization,  who  could  not  see  their 
leader,  should  desire  to  read  the  story  of  her  life,  and  for  some 
time  she  has  been  besieged  with  requests  to  write  her  own  biog¬ 
raphy.  At  the  annual  W.  C.  T.  U.  Convention  held  in  Nashville, 
Tenn.,  in  1887,  these  desires  voiced  themselves  in  the  following 
resolution,  unanimously  adopted  by  the  whole  convention  : 

Resolved ,  That  in  view  of  the  fact  that  the  year  1889  will  be  the  fif¬ 
teenth  of  the  organization  of  the  National  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance 
Union,  and  also  that  in  the  same  year  our  beloved  president,  Miss  Frances 


Introduction. 


vi  l 


E.  Willard,  enters  upon  the  fiftieth  year  of  her  strong  and  beautiful  life, 
we,  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  delegates,  in  National  Con¬ 
vention  assembled,  do  request  Miss  Willard  to  prepare  for  publication  an 
autobiography,  together  with  the  history  of  the  Woman’s  Christian  Tem¬ 
perance  Union  from  its  birth  to  1889,  with  a  collection  of  her  addresses  on 
various  themes. 

Miss  Willard  whs  at  first  averse  to’  the  plan,  and  put  off 
yielding  to  it  as  long  as  possible.  But  the  white  ribbon  women 
do  not  generally  give  up  an  idea  when  once  originated,  and  since 
they  had  so  often  walked  in  unknown  paths  at  her  bidding,  she 
felt  herself,  at  last,  bound  to  walk  in  this  path  at  their  bidding. 
Hence  this  book. 

Furthermore,  the  women  wanted  a  true  story,  not  a  story 
that,  out  of  a  conventional  modesty,  would  tell  only  half  the  truth, 
in  the  fear  of  being  thought  egotistic  and  full  of  self.  Their  idea 
is  admirably  expressed  in  these  words  of  Emerson,  “Say  hon¬ 
estly  and  simply  that  which  your  own  experience  has  given  you 
and  you  will  give  to  the  world  something  new,  valuable  and  last¬ 
ing.’’  Having  taken,  for  a  rarity,  the  authority  into  their  own 
hands,  they  have  insisted  upon  having  the  work  done  in  their 
own  way,  and  have  required  their  leader  to  tell  them  all  about 
herself,  her  work,  her  life,  the  very  inmost  of  her  being,  without 
fear  or  favor,  because  only  thus  could  she  give  them  what  they 
desired. 

Whoever  reads  this  book,  therefore,  must  remember  that  it 
has  been  written  by  request  of  and  for  the  women  of  whom  Miss 
Willard  is  the  well  beloved  leader,  the  white  ribbon  women  of 
America  ;  if  others  see  it,  that  is  their  own  good  fortune.  It 
is  a  home  book,  written  for  her  great  family  circle,  and  to  be 
read  around  the  evening  lamp  by  critics  who  love  the  writer,  and 
who  want  to  learn  from  her  experience  how  to  live  better  and 
stronger  lives.  It  is  a  woman’s  book,  warm,  sympathetic,  off¬ 
hand  ;  it  is  an  object-lesson  in  American  living  and  American 
development,  and  as  such  can  not  fail  to  interest  all  those  who 
think  American  women  worthy  of  a  little  study.  It  begins  in 
the  West  of  forty  years  ago,  picturing  a  pioneer  farm  and  the 
unique,  out-of-door  life  of  adventurous  young  Western  boys  and 
girls.  It  tells  of  a  free-spirited  mother,  who  sympathized  with 
her  children  rather  than  governed  them,  and  who,  although  she 
would  have  liked  her  daughter  to  learn  house  work,  yet  did  not 


Vlll 


Introduction . 


force  her  into  it,  because  she  had  the  rare  good  sense  to  know 
that  it  was  far  better  to  help  her  child  to  do  the  best  in  her  own 
line  than  to  force  her  to  do  a  half-best  in  any  other  line,  and  also 
because  she  believed  every  natural  gift  to  be  God-given  and 
meant  for  divine  uses  in  serving  the  world,  and  therefore  worthy 
of  respect  and  of  development.  We  have  in  the  story  of  this 
mother  and  daughter  a  glimpse  into  the  relation  between  parents 
and  children  such  as  it  ought  always  to  be,  not  one  of  arbitrary 
control  on  the  one  hand  and  slavish  submission  on  the  other,  but 
one  of  cooperation,  or  partnership,  in  which  each  should  try  to 
help  the  other  to  do  and  be  their  best,  and  should  each  realize 
the  sacred  duty  of  leaving  one  another  free  to  follow,  without  hin¬ 
drance,  the  path  which  they  should  feel  called  upon  to  pursue. 
It  is  no  small  thing  to  have  laid  open  before  us  the  methods  of  a 
grand  and  truly  typical  mother,  one  who  had  not  the  help  of  the 
usual  environment,  one  who  made  herself  her  children’s  world. 
Were  there  more  such  mothers  as  Mrs.  Willard,  there  would  be 
more  such  daughters  as  hers. 

The  father  in  this  story,  while  more  reserved,  and  conse¬ 
quently  less  manifestly  sympathetic  than  the  mother,  was  a  noble 
and  gifted  man,  of  sterling  goodness,  and  great  power  in  the  lives 
of  his  children,  to  whom  he  was  most  devotedly  attached.  There 
is  also  a  sweet  young  sister  who  brightened  the  family  life  for 
“nineteen  beautiful  years,”  and  then  left  them  for  the  home 
above,  leaving  with  her  latest  breath  a  legacy  of  infinite  value  to 
her  sister  Frances  in  the  simple  words,  ‘  ‘  Tell  everybody  to  be 
good.” 

There  is  a  brother,  too  ;  a  young  man  of  great  promise,  en¬ 
dowed  with  rare  genius,  and  of  a  most  lovable  nature,  who  left 
the  world  before  he  had  had  time  to  do  more  than  make  a  pass¬ 
ing  mark  on  the  annals  of  his  own  day,  leaving  behind  him, 
however,  a  gentle  widow,  whose  life  and  work  have  been  and 
still  are  of  great  value  to  her  family  and  the  work  of  the  Lord. 

The  book  contains  a  history  of  the  Woman’s  Crusade  against 
the  liquor  traffic  in  1874,  and  of  what  we  are  accustomed  to  call 
“its  sober  second  thought” — the  Woman’s  Christian  Temper¬ 
ance  Union,  that  great  organization  which  Mary  A.  Livermore 
says  is  “so  grand  in  its  aims,  so  superb  in  its  equipment,  so  phe¬ 
nomenal  in  its  growth,  and  has  done  so  much  for  woman  as  well 


Introduction. 


lx 


as  for  temperance,  that  it  challenges  the  attention  of  Christen¬ 
dom,  and  excites  the  hope  of  all  who  are  interested  in  the  welfare 
of  humanity.” 

Those  who  read  between  the  lines  of  this  book  can  not  fail 
to  see  how  largely  the  evolution  of  this  mighty  organization  has 
been  the  work  of  its  gentle,  yet  magnetic  leader,  whose  wonder¬ 
ful  administrative  talent  and  superb  tact,  have  given  her  an 
almost  unparalleled  success  in  controlling  and  guiding  one  of  the 
greatest  movements  of  modern  times.  Yet  with  all  this  success, 
Miss  Willard  is,  I  believe,  truly  humble  minded.  When  calls 
come  from  every  direction,  and  some  seem  to  feel  indignant,  and 
others  accuse  her  of  one  thing,  and  still  others  of  another,  and 
they  fit  her  out  with  motives,  knowing  nothing  whatever  about 
the  facts  in  the  case,  she  writes  after  this  fashion  :  ‘  ‘  Am  badgered 
to  death  and  am  not  worried  a  hair — what  do  you  make  o’  that  ? 
I  fancy  the  explanation  is  that,  unless  I  am  an  awfully  deceived 
woman,  I  am  desirous  of  doing  God’s  will,  and  so  the  clamor  on 
this  footstool  is  like  the  humming  of  ‘  ’skeeters  ’  outside  the 
curtain.  It  rather  lulls  me  into  quiet.”  No  one  could  realize 
more  deeply  than  she  does  the  truth  that,  “  Except  the  Lord  build 
the  city,  they  labor  in  vain  that  build  it,”  and  she  has  always 
sought  to  commit  her  work  and  her  ways  to  the  keeping  of  the 
Divine  Master,  in  a  simple,  child-like  faith  that  He  would  lead 
her  in  the  way  she  should  go,  and  would  make  all  her  paths 
straight  before  her.  That  this  faith  has  been  answered  to  a 
remarkable  degree  the  book  before  us  will  clearly  show. 

The  beautiful  illustrations  of  the  book  are  entirely  the  work 
of  the  Woman’s  Temperance  Publication  Association,  which  is 
bringing  it  out.  Miss  Willard  would  not  have  felt  willing  in  her 
own  name  to  send  forth  such  personal  pictures  for  the  public 
gaze,  but  she  was  obliged  to  yield  in  this,  as  in  all  else  concerning 
the  book,  to  the  wishes  and  judgment  of  the  white  ribbon  women, 
who,  for  once,  have  got  the  upper-hand  of  their  leader,  and  greatly 
enjoy  making  her  do  their  bidding.  The  W.  T.  P.  A.  took  the 
whole  responsibility  of  the  illustrations,  and  has  prepared  this 
part  of  the  volume  in  an  unusually  original  and  artistic  manner. 

Altogether,  we  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  of  the  United  States  look 
upon  this  book  as  a  most  creditable  witness  to  the  value  of  our 
organization  and  to  the  successful  working  of  the  Woman’s 


\ 


x  Introduction. 

Temperance  Publication  Association,  which  is  one  of  our  most 
promising  children. 

I  would  like  to  tell  a  little  story  in  conclusion.  There  is  a 
creature  in  the  sea  called  the  Octopus,  with  a  very  small  body 
but  with  immense  arms  covered  with  suckers,  radiating  from 
every  side,  that  stretch  themselves  out  to  indefinite  length  to 
draw  in  all  sorts  of  prey.  Miss  Willard  seems  to  have  the  same 
characteristic  of  being  able  to  reach  out  mental  or  spiritual  arms 
to  indefinite  lengths,  whereby  to  draw  in  everything  and  every¬ 
body  that  seem  likely  to  help  on  the  cause  she  has  at  heart. 
Hence  I,  who  have  felt  the  grip  of  those  arms  of  hers,  have  come 
to  call  her  in  our  private  moments,  “  My  beloved  Octopus,”  and 
myself  her  contented  victim. 

What  future  histories  will  need  to  be  written  concerning  the 
coming  years  of  the  life  here  portrayed,  no  one  can  tell.  But  of 
this  I  am  sure,  that  the  same  Divine  Hand  that  has  led  her 
hitherto  will  still  lead,  and  will  bring  her  in  triumph  to  life’s 
close,  for  the  motto  of  her  heart  continues  more  and  more  fo  be, 
“  This  God  shall  be  our  God,  even  unto  death.” 


4-4  Grosvenor  Road ,  Westminster  Embankment , 
London ,  5.  W.,  England. 


IJrefatorg. 


Whether  for  good  or  ill,  I  have  set  down  with  absolute 
fidelity  these  recollections  of  myself.  The  wise  ones  tell  us  that 
we  change  utterly  once  in  every  seven  years,  so  that  from  the 
vantage-ground  of  life’s  serene  meridian,  I  have  looked  back  upon 
the  seven  persons  whom  I  know  most  about  :  the  welcome  child, 
the  romping  girl,  the  happy  student,  the  roving  teacher,  the 
tireless  traveler,  the  temperance  organizer,  and  lastly,  the  poli¬ 
tician  and  advocate  of  woman’s  rights  !  Since  all  these  are 
sweetly  dead  and  gone,  why  should  not  their  biographies  and 
epitaphs,  perchance  their  eulogies,  be  written  by  their  best  in¬ 
formed  and  most  indulgent  critic  ? 

A  thousand  homes  in  as  many  different  towns,  have  kindly 
cherished  me  in  my  many  pilgrimages.  The  fathers  in  those 
homes  treated  me  with  high  respect,  the  mothers  with  sacred  ten¬ 
derness  ;  the  lads  and  lasses  with  heartiest  kindness,  the  blessed 
little  children  loved  me  for  their  mothers’  sake. 

To  them  all,  my  heart  goes  out  with  unspeakable  good  will 
and  gratitude.  Perhaps  the  honest  record  of  my  fifty  years  may 
give  them  pleasure  ;  perhaps  it  may  do  good.  At  all  events  they 
asked  for  it — at  least  their  leaders  did,  in  the  great,  genial  meeting 
that  we  had  down  South  in  1887 — so  I  have  put  it  into  black  and 
white,  not  as  I  would,  but  as  I  could,  and  here  it  is. 


1889. 


Illustrations. 


Frontispiece. — Steel  Engraving,  Miss  Willard. 

Photogravures, 

The  Office— Rest  Cottage,  ------ 

Kate  A.  Jackson,  ------ 

Anna  A.  Gordon — “My  little  Organist,” 

“The  Den” — Miss  Willard’s  Workshop,  - 
The  Parlor— Rest  Cottage,  ------ 

Reproductions  from  Photographs  and  Aouareeees. 

I.  A  Welcome  Child — Early  Sports,  -  -  - 

II.  A  Romping  Girl — PAorest  Home, 

III.  A  Happy  Student,  ------ 

IV.  A  Roving  Teacher — Evanston  College  for  Ladies,  - 

V.  A  Tireless  Traveler,  - 

VI.  A  Temperance  Advocate  and  Organizer — Illinois  Petition 
for  Home  Protection,  175,000  Names, 

VII.  A  Woman  in  Politics,  .... 

Silhouettes,  ------- 

Homes — Birthplace,  the  Oberlin  Residence,  Forest  Home,  Swamps- 
cott,  Rest  Cottage,  ----- 

Churches — Churchville,  Ogden,  Janesville,  Evanston, 

The  Hill  and  Willard  Homesteads,  - 

School-buildings  (Student-life) — Forest  Home,  Milwaukee  Female 
College,  Northwestern  I'emale  College, 

Family  Group — “My  Four,”  ----- 

School-buildings  (Teacher-life) — Harlem,  Pittsburgh,  Lima, 

School  buildings  (Teacher-life) — From  Public  School  to  North¬ 
western  University,  Evanston,  -  -  - 

Bas-relief— Miss  Willard,  ------ 

Bas-relief — Madame  Willard,  - 

Officers  of  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U., 

World’s  W.  C.  T.  U.  Group,  ----- 
The  First  Composition — Fac-simile,  -  -  -  - 


PAGE 

128 

288 

384 

544 

656 


14 

72 

132 

244 

330 

374 

492 

8 

48 

64 

96 

160 

176 

208 

344 

345 
408 

432 

496 


Illustrations. 


•  •  • 

xm 

Editors  of  Our  Day ,  -  -  -  -  -  -  -512 

Officers  National  Council  of  Women,  -  592 

Picturesque  Evanston  (looking  toward  Rest  Cottage) — Rest  Cot¬ 
tage  Playground,  ------  624 

Lithographs. 

W.  C.  T.  U.  Banners. — Ohio,  Massachusetts,  New  York,  The 

National,  The  World’s,  etc.,  -----  456 

The  Children's  Page. — Father  Mathew  Medal,  Silver  Cup,  Roman 

Cameo,  “Old  Faithful,”  etc.  -----  680 

PEN  AND  INK  SKETCHES. 

Seal  of  National  W.  C.  T.  U.,  -  -  -  •  -  x 

Ships  of  the  Prairie,  -  --  --  --  46 

Sampler,  -  --  --  --  --61 

The  Master’s  Desk,  -  --  --  --  98 

Plan  of  Forest  Home,  -------  132 

Map  of  Forest  Home  Farm,  ------  145 

Silver  Goblet,  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -189 

Old  Oaken  Bucket,  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  197 

Roll  of  Honor,  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  •  225 

College  Cottage,  -------  244 

“Shall  we  ever  go  anywhere?”  *  -  -  252 

En  route  in  Montana,  ------  33° 

Beer  Mug  from  Saloon  in  Hillsboro,  -  -  -  -  -  341 

W.  C.  T.  U.  Coffee  Cart, . 355 

National  W.  C.  T.  U.  Gavel, . 381 

Portland  (Or.)  W.  C.  T.  U.  Shield,  -  -  -  -  409 

White  Cross  and  White  Shield  Emblem,  -  429 

World’s  W.  C.  T.  U.  Emblem,  . 436 

White  Rose, . 453 

Metropolitan  Opera  House,  ------  468 

Bourbon  Jug  Water-cooler  (New  Orleans  Exposition),  -  -  478 

Chicago  Post  Placard,  -  -  -  -  -  -  '  5r4 

John  B.  Gough’s  Gift  of  Tea  Set,  -  654 

Mother’s  Scrap  Books,  ------  665 

“Old  Rye,” . 685 

Music — “May  de  Lord,”  ------  694 

Vale,  -  --  --  --  --  698 

Willard  Farm,  ------  Appendix 

Willard  Coat-of-Arms,  ------ 


of  Contents. 


Introductory  Matter.  -  -  -  -  -  iii-xi 

I.  A  WELCOME  CHILD. 

A  Little  Pilgrim.  -------  1-14 

Heredity— Early  childhood  days— Almost  named  for  Queen  Victoria— Not  hand¬ 
some,  to  say  the  least — Childish  sports. 

II.  A  ROMPING  GIRL. 

Chapter  I.  My  Apprenticeship  to  Nature.  -  15-46 

Near  to  Nature’s  heart — Fort  City — Girlish  sports — Outdoor  life — Spring-time  at 
Forest  Home— Boy  comrades— The  forest  monarch. 

Chapter  II.  The  Artists’  Club.  -  47-61 

Mother’s  Eastern  visit — Amateur  painters  and  hunters— Home  incidents— Presi¬ 
dent  Finney. 

Chapter  III.  Little  Boats  Set  Out  from  Shore.  -  62-72 

First  break  in  the  home-circle — Another  Eastern  visit — Prize  cup — Young  lady¬ 
hood — Freedom  and  rebellion— Good-by  to  Forest  Home. 

III.  A  HAPPY  STUDENT. 

Chapter  I.  Delightful  Days  at  School.  -  -  -  73-98 

Mother’s  teachings — Early  school-days — First  flight  from  home — Aunt  Sarah — 
Milwaukee  Female  College — School  honors. 

Chapter  II.  College  Days.  -----  99-123 

Northwestern  Female  College — The  grammar  party — A  student  of  Emerson — 
Inquirer,  not  infidel— “  There  is  a  God” — Faith  for  doubt. 

Chapter  III.  First  Year  Out  of  School.  -  -  124-132 

Life  at  home — The  Civil  war— Neglected  and  forgotten — Solemn  vows. 

IV.  A  ROVING  TEACHER. 

Chapter  I.  District  School,  No.  i.  -  -  -  133-145 

Starting  out— New  responsibilities— Summer  studies— Sabbath  away  from  home— 

A  lonesome  school-ma’am. 

Chapter  II.  Kankakee  Academy,  -  -  -  146-161 

Tell  your  age  —  A  sense  of  right  and  justice  —  Mesmerism  —  Lincoln  —  Home 
again. 

Chapter  III.  The  Public  Schools  in  Harlem  and  in  Evans¬ 
ton.  .  162-168 

Our  first  war  meeting— Evanston  public  school— Nineteen  beautiful  years  ended— 

“  Tell  everybody  to  be  good  ” — A  change. 

Chapter  IV.  “Preceptress  of  the  Natural  Sciences.”  169-174 
Northwestern  Female  College— One  day’s  work— Teacher  and  pupil— ‘‘The  slaves 
are  free.” 

(xiv) 


Table  of  Contents. 


xv 


Chapter  V.  Pittsburgh  Femage  Coggege.  -  -  175-184 

First  day  at  Pittsburgh— A  botanical  outing— A  wordless  secret— One  year  ago — 
War  rumors. 

Chapter  VI.  The  Grove  Schoog  and  the  Buigding  of  Heck 

Hagg.  185-189 

The  Bank  of  Character— Word  studies— Heck  Hall. 

Chapter  VII.  Genesee  Wesgeyan  Seminary.  -  -  190-197 

First  days  at  Gima— A  chapter  in  Methodist  history — A  European  trip  in  prospect. 

Chapter  VIII.  Evanston  Coggege  for  Women.  -  198-205 

Something  new— Bishop  E-  O.  Haven— The  women’s  Fourth  of  July — The  new 
college  building. 

Chapter  IX.  Segf-Government  for  Girgs.  -  -  206-225 

Original  plans — Roll  of  Honor — The  Self-governed — The  Good-behavior  Club — Art 
and  composition  classes — The  first  Woman’s  Commencement— The  Chicago  fire. 

Chapter  X.  Why  I  Left  the  University.  -  -  226-244 

Puzzling  questions — Union  of  University  and  College— New  methods— Resignation 
of  position— Reports  of  committees— Trial  and  triumph — After  fifteen  years. 

V.  THE  TIRELESS  TRAVELER. 

Eargy  Journeyings.  ------  245-330 

My  benefactors — Itinerary— The  Giant’s  Causeway — The  Garden  of  Eden — St.  Ber¬ 
nard — Paris— Ecumenical  Council — Pyramids— Palestine — Car-window  jottings  at 
home. 

VI.  A  TEMPERANCE  ADVOCATE  AND  ORGANIZER. 
Chapter  I.  On  the  Threshogd.  -  331-341 

First  Crusade  days — A  turning-point  in  life — Early  speeches. 

Chapter  II.  The  Opening  Way.  -  342-355 

Odd  faith  test — Secretary  State  W.  C.  T.  U.— Secretary  National  W.  C.  T.  U. — 
Woman’s  ballot. 

Chapter  III.  Moody’s  Boston  Meetings — Ogiver’s  Death.  356-367 

Bible  talks— A  change  of  plan— A  “  free  lance” — The  great  petition— Brother’s 


death. 

Chapter  IV.  Conservatives  and  Liberags.  -  -  368-374 

President  National  W.  C.  T.  U. — Mrs.  Hayes’  Picture— Southern  trip. 

VII.  A  WOMAN  IN  POLITICS. 

Chapter  I.  The  Home  Protection  Party.  -  -  375-381 

Temperance  in  politics — Extracts  from  speeches— A  secession  that  did  not  secede. 

Chapter  II.  Nationag  Conventions.  -  -  -  382-402 

Our  temperance  round-up —World’s  W.  C.  T.  U. — Memorial  to  National  Conven¬ 
tions— Nomination  of  Governor  St.  John — “  Home  Protection  ”  as  a  name. 

Chapter  III.  The  St.  Louis  Convention.  -  -  403-409 

Gospel  politics — The  famous  resolution — Call  to  prayer— Protest  and  reply. 

Chapter  IV.  Women  in  Councig.  ...  410-417 


Pageants  of  the  New  Crusade — Mrs.  Margaret  Bright  Gucas — Address  to  Gabor  Or¬ 
ganizations — Nashville  Convention. 


XVI 


Table  of  Contents. 


Chapter  V.  White  Cross  and  White  Shield.  -  -  418-42 

Pall  Mall  Gazette  disclosures — The  White  Cross  League — Efficient  help  from  the 
Knights  of  Labor — Mrs.  Kaura  Ormiston  Chant. 

Chapter  VI.  The  World’s  W.  C.  T.  U.  -  -  430-436 

Mrs.  Mary  Clement  Eeavitt — The  work  in  England  and  Canada — The  world’s 
petition. 

Chapter  VII.  The  Greatest  Party.  -  -  -  437-453 

The  “catnip  tea”  resolution— The  Indianapolis  Convention — Nomination  of  Fisk 
and  Brooks — The  Blue  and  the  Gray — Prohibition  platform — The  suffrage  debate — 
The  white  rose. 

Chapter  VIII.  The  New  York  Convention  (1888).  -  454-468 

Metropolitan  Opera  House — Protests  and  memorials — Distinguished  guests — Ad¬ 
vancement  “  all  along  the  line” — Ecclesiastical  emancipation  of  women — W.  C. 

T  U.  deaconesses. 

Chapter  IX.  Aims  and  Methods  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  469-478 

Crusade  annals — Evolution — Organization— One  in  Christ  Jesus. 

Chapter  X.  Misceeeaneous  Incidents  of  Temperance  Work. 

.  -  479-492 

Pledges  broken  and  fulfilled — Mrs. Judge  Thompson — Convention  episodes. — Dr. 


Bushnell’s  pulpit — Temperance  women  are  total  abstainers. 

SILHOUETTES. 

What  I  Have  Done  and  Suffered  as  a  Pen-hoed er,  -  493 

Peopee  I  have  Met,  ------  515 

Women  Speakers — First  Pubeic  Lecture,  -  569 

National  Council  of  Women,  -  590 

My  Opinion  of  Men,  -  -  -  -  -  -  597 

General  Conferences,  -  615 

God  and  my  Heart,  ------  622 

The  Gospel  of  Health,  -  631 

Mind-cure,  --------  636 

Companionship,  -------  637 

Demerits,  --------  646 

My  Holidays,  -------  650 

Mother,  --------  655 

Father,  - .  666 

Bits  from  my  Note-book,  ------  671 

Introspective,  -------  686 

Finally,  --------  695 

Ancestry,  -----  Appendix. 


% 


\ 


I 


a  <B23dromc  ffitytlii. 


<  ( 


Keep  near  to  thy  childhood,  for  in  going  from  it 


>  5 


THOU  ART  GOING  FROM  THE  GODS 


GLIMPSES  OF  FIFTY  YEARS: 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  AN  AMERICAN  WOMAN. 


A  LITTLE  PILGRIM. 

Mother  was  nearly  thirty -five  when  I  was  born,  the  fourth  of 
her  five  children,  one  of  whom,  the  first,  had  passed  away  in 
infancy,  and  the  third  at  the  age  of  fourteen  months.  This  little 
girl,  Caroline  Elizabeth,  mother  has  always  spoken  of  as  the  most 
promising  child  she  ever  bore,  or,  for  that  matter,  ever  saw.  “She 
was  a  vision  of  delight,”  writh  deep  blue  eyes  and  dark  brown 
hair ;  a  disposition  without  flaw,  her  nerves  being  so  well  encased 
and  her  little  spirit  so  perfectly  equipoised  that  she  would  sit  or 
lie  in  her  cradle  cooing  to  herself  by  the  hour,  and  when  she  rode, 
the  beauty  of  the  world  outdoors  seemed  so  well  apprehended  by 
this  seraphic  child  that  her  little  hands  were  constantly  out¬ 
stretched  and  her  sweet  eyes  were  full  of  light  and  comprehension, 
while  her  silvery  voice  took  on  such  an  ecstasy  as  was  remarked 
by  all  who  knew  her.  My  little  sister  passed  to  heaven  just  as 
she  began  to  speak  the  language  of  this  world.  My  mother’s 
first  great  grief  then  broke  her  heart,  and  as  I  came  less  than  one 
year  afterward,  the  deep  questionings  and  quivering  pathos  of  her 
spirit  had  their  effect  on  mine.  She  lived  much  with  her  books, 
especially  the  Bible  and  the  poets,  in  this  chastened  interval. 
Many  a  time  has  she  said  to  me,  “  Frank,  above  all  things  else 
thank  heaven  you  were  a  welcome  child ,  for  I  had  prayed  so  often 


2 


Heredity. 


that  another  little  girl  might  come  into  our  home  for  us  to  love.” 
She  says  she  hoped  this  also  for  my  brother’s  sake,  who  was  five 
years  my  senior  and  then  her  only  child.  During  this  year  she 
often  wTent  to  singing-school  and  there  saw  a  young  woman 
with  fair  complexion,  auburn  hair  and  blue  eyes,  moving  about 
among  the  people  to  take  their  names.  Mother  says  she  liked 
the  quiet,  intelligent  and  rapid  way  in  which  the  work  was  done, 
and  in  her  heart  earnestly  wished  that  the  little  one  whose  coming 
was  her  constant  thought,  might  be  a  girl,  and  might  grow  up  to 
be  such  a  young  woman  as  the  one  she  watched  with  thoughtful 
and  observant  eyes. 

And  that  is  all  I  choose  to  tell  of  my  heredity. 

It  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  have  an  accomplished  ste¬ 
nographer  always  within  call  the  last  few  years,  and  since  my 
mother’s  hand  is  not  so  steady  as  it  once  was,  she  often  has  a 
sitting  with  Miss  Mitchell,  who  takes  down  her  words  of  remi¬ 
niscence  and  of  wisdom.  This  serves  to  give  needed  variety  to 
my  mother’s  life,  and  also  to  preserve  very  many  facts  other¬ 
wise  lost. 

Some  notes  here  follow  in  reply  to  questions  asked  her  by  an 
interested  friend. 

‘‘What  do  you  recall  about  your  daughter’s  birth  ?  ” 

“  It  occurred  at  eleven  o’clock,  Thursday  morning,  September 
28,  1839,  in  our  quiet  home  on  the  principal  street  of  Churchville, 
Monroe  County,  N.  Y.,  fourteen  miles  west  of  Rochester.  Dr. 
Lillie,  a  refined  and  unusually  gifted  physician  and  a  great  friend 
of  my  husband’s,  presided  at  her  advent.  I  remember  saying, 

‘  Is  it  a  little  girl  ?  ’  and  my  unspeakable  joy  on  learning  that  my 
long  prayer  was  answered.  ‘  Why  did  you  not  tell  her  without 
being  asked  ?  ’  said  Frank’s  Aunt  Elizabeth,  who  was  present, 
and  Dr.  Lillie  answered,  ‘  Because  I  did  n’t  choose  to  please  her 
well  enough,’  which  was  meant  as  a  piquant  little  remark  to 
enliven  me  the  more,  for  he  well  knew  how  eager  were  my  empty 
arms  to  clasp  another  girl-baby  to  my  breast.  Every  morning  the 
lonesome  little  brother  would  run  down-stairs  without  waiting  to 
dress,  and  exclaim,  ‘  Ma,  is  the  baby  dead  ?  ’  he  so  much  feared  it, 
as  the  sweet  one  had  died  the  year  before,  and  when  he  found  that 
Frank  lived  on,  he  still  would  come  when  he  awoke  and  say, 

‘  Ma,  is  the  baby  well  ?  ’ 


! 


Deacon  Hall's  Family . 


3 


“The  principal  family  in  Churchville  was  that  of 'Deacon 
Hall,  the  merchant  of  the  village.  They  were  Presbyterians,  and 
it  used  to  be  said  that  the  Deacon  extended  one,  two,  three  or  four 
lingers  of  his  hand  to  those  who  came  as  customers,  according  to 
his  estimation  of  their  social  status.  Mrs.  Hall  was  a  lovely 
woman,  a  sort  of  ‘  Lady  Bountiful.’  Living  just  across  the  street 
from  them,  we  were  among  the  very  few  families  that  were  admitted 
to  the  charmed  circle  of  their  home.  It  was  considered  a  distin¬ 
guished  honor.  Mrs.  Hall  was  with  me  when  Frank  made  her 
first  appearance,  and  took  such  a  fancy  to  her  that  she  used  to 
come  across  the  street  every  morning  for  six  weeks  to  give  the 
little  baby  her  bath,  and  look  after  her  generally.  The  family 
consisted  of  five  sons,  four  daughters  and  two  relatives,  cousins, 
I  think  they  were,  of  Mrs.  Hall,  Miss  Ruth  Rogers  and  her 
brother  Joshua.  Miss  Rogers  afterward  married  Elisha  Harmon, 
a  staunch  young  farmer  and  miller  some  few  miles  away,  and  be¬ 
came  the  mother  of  Mrs.  Folsom,  who  is  now  President  Cleve¬ 
land’s  mother-in-law.  Miss  Rogers  was  a  handsome,  well-poised, 
vigorous  young  woman,  whom  I  remember  to  have  thought 
specially  agreeable  and  promising.  She  entered  heartily  into  all 
the  work  and  amusements  of  her  cousins  and  was  greatly  beloved 
by  them.  Her  granddaughter,  Mrs.  Cleveland,  no  doubt  owes 
to  her  many  of  the  fine  qualities  with  which  she  is  endowed. 
Deacon  Hall’s  family  were  conservative  in  manner,  and  we  could 
but  appreciate  the  cordial  welcome  they  gave  us  when  we  removed 
to  the  village.  When  Frank’s  eldest  sister,  Caroline  Elizabeth, 
died  less  than  a  year  before  Frank  was  born,  and  my  heart  was 
well-nigh  broken,  I  prized  beyond  all  words  their  active  sym¬ 
pathy  ;  they  neglected  nothing  in  their  power  to  do,  that  could 
palliate  that  fearful  blow  or  stimulate  my  hopes.  The  family  all, 
both  young  and  old,  evinced  much  anxiety  for  me  and  for  the 
baby’s  .safety  and  welfare.” 

“  What  sort  of  a  looking  baby  was  Frances  Elizabeth,  any¬ 
how?”  pursued  the  questioner,  whereupon,  after  the  fashion  of 
mothers  since  the  world  began,  this  answer  came  :  ‘  ‘  Very  pretty, 
with  sunny  hair,  blue  eyes,  delicate  features,  fair  complexion, 
long  waist,  short  limbs.  She  was  called  the  doll-babv  of  the 
village.  ’  ’ 

“  Was  she  brought  up  by  hand  ?  ”  Answer :  “Yes,  .she  was, 


4 


“ She  Gives  Trouble  Enough 


as  we  used  to  say  in  the  old-fashioned  phrase,  a  bottle  baby, 
or  one  ‘  brought  up  by  hand  ’  after  the  first  four  weeks,  on  ac¬ 
count  of  my  not  being  strong.  But  I  ought  to  add  for  her  present 
reputation’s  sake,  she  had  no  affinity  for  the  bottle  —  putting  it 
away  when  ten  months  old  with  no  regret.  She  suffered  very 
much  from  teething,  more  than  any  other  of  my  children,  being 
of  an  organism  remarkably  susceptible  to  physical  pain.  She 
always  slept  with  both  hands  on  my  face.  She  was  a  very  affec¬ 
tionate  little  creature.  She  could  talk  some  time  before  she 
could  walk,  speaking  quite  wisely  at  fourteen  months,  but  not 
walking  until  twenty-four  months  old.  As  a  little  girl  she  was 
very  confiding  and  fond  of  her  childish  friends,  even  beyond  what 
one  expects  to  see  at  that  period.  , 

‘  ‘  Her  father  used  to  say  when  walking  to  and  fro  with  her  at 
night,  her  vigorous  lungs  in  full  action,  sending  forth  screams  that 
could  be  heard  in  the  remotest  part  of  the  house,  ‘  I  declare,  this 
young  one  ought  to  amount  to  something,  she  gives  trouble 
enough !  ’  He  was  very  kind  as  a  care-taker  of  the  children, 
shariug  with  me  far  more  than  husbands  usually  do,  or  did  in 
those  days,  the  work  of  bringing  up  our  little  ones.  He  would 
get  up  at  night,  heat  the  milk  for  the  crying  baby,  and  do  his 
best  to  reconcile  her  to  the  hard  bit  of  ivory  now  replaced  by  the 
gutta-percha  tube. 

‘  ‘  She  dearly  loved  her  brother  Oliver  and  sister  Mary,  who 
were  ever  ready  to  enter  into  her  plans  for  pastime.  They  were 
very  much  to  one  another  always.  She  was  mentally  precocious, 
but  physically  delicate  beyond  any  other  of  my  children.  She 
was  inventive  and  original  in  her  amusements.  This  last  used 
particularly  to  impress  me.  She  early  manifested  an  exceeding 
fondness  for  books.  She  believed  in  herself,  and  in  her  teachers. 
Her  bias  toward  certain  studies  and  pursuits  was  very  marked. 
Even  in  the  privacy  of  her  own  room  she  was  often  in  a  sort  of 
ecstasy  of  aspiration.  In  her  childhood,  and  always,  she  strongly 
repelled  occupations  not  to  her  taste,  but  was  eager  to  grapple 
with  principles,  philosophies,  and  philanthropies,  and  unweary- 
ingly  industrious  along  her  favorite  lines.  I  wonder  sometimes 
that  I  had  the  wit  to  let  her  do  what  she  preferred-  instead  of 
obliging  her  to  take  up  housework  as  did  all  the  other  girls  of 
our  acquaintance.  She  was  an  untrained  vine  rambling  whither- 


“  Sissy's  Dress  Aches  A 


5 


soever  she  would.  When  she  was  two  years  oid  we  removed  from 
Churchville,  to  Oberlin,  Ohio,  her  Aunt  Sarah  going  with  us. 
I  held  Frank  all  the  way.  It  was  a  tiresome  journey,  for  we 
went  by  carriage.  She  often  put  her  little  arms  around  my  neck, 
laid  her  head  upon  my  shoulder  and  said,  ‘  Mamma,  sissy'' s  dress, 
aches  !  ’  It  rejoices  me  to  believe  that  she  intuitively  recognized 
the  fact  that  it  is  not  one’s  real  self  that  is  ever  tired,  but  only 
this  dress  of  mortality  that  aches  sometimes. 

‘  ‘  She  used  to  see  the  students  rehearsing  their  speeches  and 
would  get  up  an  amusing  imitation  of  them,  when  but  three 
years  old.  Many  a  time  I  have  seen  her  standing  on  the  well- 
curb  or  on  top  of  the  gate-post  imitating  the  gestures  of  some 
bright  young  sophomore  who  stood  there,  ‘  laying  it  off  ’  for  her 
amusement.  She  was  very  fond  of  playing  outdoors,  indoor 
amusements  seeming  irksome  to  her  always.  Her  brother  was 
her  favorite  comrade,  and  his  sturdy  little  playmates  among  the 
boys  would  sometimes  call  her  ‘Tomboy,’  which  she  resented 
very  much  and  I  did  for  her. 

“Once  she  ran  away  when  about  three  years  old,  going 
through  the  fields  and  creeping  under  the  fences,  so  that  when, 
after  a  great  fright,  she  was  discovered,  her  brother  said  it  was 
pitiful  to  see  the  little  creature’s  bravery  combined  with  her  pant¬ 
ing  fatigue,  for  she  did  her  utmost  not  to  be  overtaken. 

‘  ‘  She  used  often  to  go  with  me  to  church  where  President 
Finney  usually  preached.  She  said  his  great  light  eyes,  white 
eyebrows,  and  vigorous  manner  were  to  her  like  a  combination 
of  thunder  and  lightning  ;  lightning  in  his  look,  thunder  in  his 
voice.  I  am  sure  her  impressionable  spirit  became  somewhat 
frightened  by  the  thought  of  Christianity  as  administered  by 
that  great  orator,  who  was  very  much  given  to  rehearsing  in  our 
hearing  the  pains  and  penalties  of  the  condemned.” 

So  much  for  mother’s  memories  of  my  babyhood  and  early 
years  at  dear  old  Oberlin. 

The  first  religious  teaching  that  I  can  call  to  mind  is  the 
learning  of  this  sweet  prayer  of  every  little  child  : 

“Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 

I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep, 

If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 

I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take, 

And  this  I  ask  for  Jesus’  sake.” 


6 


A  Frightened  Child. 


Mother  taught  me  that  before  I  can  remember,  but  it  seems  to 
me  I  can  recall,  though  it  may  be  but  the  memory  of  a  memory, 
her  sitting  with  a  little  Testament  in  hand  and  telling  me  it  was 
God’s  message  to  us,  and  that  instinctively  within  my  spirit  rose 
the  thought  and  utterance,  ‘  ‘  How  do  you  know  ?  ”  I  was  not 
one  who  naturally  took  things  for  granted,  ft  was  intuitive 
with  me  to  seek  for  causes  and  for  reasons.  My  faith  faculty 
was  not  naturally  strong,  and  yet  when  I  say  so,  it  almost  seems 
as  if  I  did  injustice  to  my  gift  in  that  regard.  Mother  was  sur¬ 
prised  at  my  inquiries  and  called  me  playfully,  in  talking  with 
her  friends,  her  “  little  infidel.  ”  But  I  have  always  thought  my 
infidelity  was  of  that  harmless  kind  quite  curiously  illustrated 
by  an  incident  in  my  brother  Oliver’s  four  years’  old  period. 
At  that  date,  we  did  not  have  family  prayers,  though  I  have 
no  recollection  of  such  a  graceless  time  in  our  family  history. 
When  my  parents  took  my  brother  to  my  mother’s  home,  her 
father,  who  was  a  most  devout  and  earnest  man,  had  prayers 
both  night  and  morning,  and  little  Ollie,  as  she  called  him,  said 
to  her  one  day,  looking  up  with  his  blue  eyes,  so  full  of  questions 
always,  “Mamma,  what  does  gran’sir  say  to  the  chair  when  he 
gets  down  on  his  legs  ?  ’  ’  The  simple  fact  was  he  proposed  to 
investigate  a  phenomenon  with  which  he  was  not  familiar,  and 
this  he  had  a  most  undoubted  right  to  do. 

All  through  my  childhood  I  was  docile  toward  the  supernat¬ 
ural,  wondering  about  it,  with  great  sighs  in  my  little  breast,  but  I 
think  I  should  not  have  feared  it  so  much  if  a  man  who  died  next 
door  to  us  had  not  been  “laid  out”  in  such  a  chilly  shroud,  and 
had  not  been  so  repellent  in  death.  At  least,  I  know  that  the  first 
fright  my  spirit  got  was  when  my  father  lifted  me  up,  a  child  not 
five  years  old,  and  held  me  quite  close  down  to  see  what  was 
inside  that  coffin.  I  never  had  a  blow  that  struck  so  deep  as  did 
that  sight  ;  I  never  had  a  burn  that  seared  so,  nor  a  pain  that 
tingled  like  it.  Young  as  I  was,  something  in  me  akin  to  a  high 
dignity,  resented  this  rude  introduction  to  what  then  seemed  the 
“King  of  Terrors.”  I  never  said  it,  but  I  always  felt  I  had 
received  an  injury,  suffered  a  wrong.  On  pleasant  summer  days, 
out  in  the  bright,  sunshiny  weather,  thoughts  “too  deep  for 
tears”  have  come  to  me  when  I  remembered  seeing  that.  It 
seems  to  me  that  we  intrude  upon  the  royal  little  heart  of  child- 


Talking  Religion .  ’  ’ 


7 


<  < 


hood  when  we  thrust  upon  it  such  a  cruel  blow.  Always  since 
then,  in  spite  of  all  my  faith  and  the  fervors  I  have  known  relig¬ 
iously,  there  is  about  the  thought  of  death  the  clammy  horror 
stamped  upon  me  when  I  saw  that  face.  So  I  mused  much  why 
these  things  were,  and  could  but  wonder,  if  we  had  a  God  so  kind, 
why  he  should  make  us  fair  and  sweet  as  children,  bright  and 
happy  in  youth,  serene  and  strong  in  middle-life  and  then  send 
us  away  like  that !  I  have  often  heard  good  people  say  they 
“thought  it  necessary  to  take  their  children  early  to  a  funeral,” 
but  why  they  must  do  this  I  can  not  see.  If  the  first  sight  of 
death  could  be  some  sweet  and  lovely  face,  such  as  I  have  some¬ 
times  beheld  since  then,  the  impression  of  childhood’s  plastic 
little  nature  would  surely  be  far  more  in  keeping  with  what  we 
believe  death  really  is. 

The  years  went  on,  and  while  my  sister  Mary  was  always 
willing,  at  least,  I  was  strongly  averse  when  ‘  ‘  they  came  to  talk 
religion,”  as  I  was  wont  to  call  it.  I  would  sit  silent  and  let 
them  have  their  say,  but  seldom  answered  save  in  monosyllables, 
in  case  I  must.  We  could  not  often  go  to  church  because  we 
lived  three  miles  away  and  the  minister  had  to  ‘  ‘  preach  around  ’  ’ 
at  different  appointments.  Nor  did  we  have  much  Sunday-school 
instruction.  I  am  ashamed  that  what  we  had  I  can  not  specially 
recall,  except  that  I  learned  by  heart  many  chapters  in  the  four 
Gospels,  the  first  scripture  that  I  ever  committed  to  memory  being 
what  mother  says  is  the  first  she  ever  learned,  “  In  the  beginning 
was  the  Word.”  We  always  had  for  Sunday  reading  the  little 
Sunday-School  Advocate ,  so  well  known  to  Methodist  Sunday- 
school  children,  and  the  Myrtle ,  a  pretty  juvenile  paper,  the 
organ  of  the  Free-Will  Baptist  Sunday-schools.  Besides  this,  we 
took  any  number  of  books,  sometimes  five  at  once,  out  of  the 
Sunday-school  library,  and  nothing  was  more  familiar  to  me  than 
those  words  upon  the  title  page,  “Revised  by  D.  P.  Kidder.” 
We  aftenvard  became  acquainted  with  this  honored  son  of  the 
church  when  we  came  to  live  in  Evanston.  The  things  I 
loved  to  read,  however,  in  all  these  books  and  papers,  were 
stories  of  adventure,  when  I  could  get  them — which  was  seldom — 
historical  facts,  dialogues  about  nature,  of  which  there  were  many, 
and  anything  that  taught  me  what  sort  of  a  world  was  this  of 
which  I  had  become  a  resident.  “The  Slave’s  Friend,”  that 


8 


Singing  and  Speaking . 


earliest  book  of  all  my  reading,  stamped  upon  me  the  purpose  to 
help  humanity,  the  sense  of  brotherhood,  of  all  nations  as  really 
one,  and  of  God  as  the  equal  Father  of  all  races.  This,  perhaps, 
was  a  better  sort  of  religion  than  some  Sunday-school  books 
would  have  given.  It  occurs  to  me  that  I  have  not  estimated  at 
its  true  value  that  nugget  of  a  little  fanatical  volume  published 
for  children  by  the  Antislavery  Society.  Some  one  gave  me  the 
“Life of  Nathan  Dickerman,”  whose  charming  face  as  represented 
in  the  frontispiece  attracted  me  immensely,  and  I  think  it  was  for 
its  sake  I  read  the  book  through.  He  was  a  dear  boy,  a  little 
saint,  and  I  grieved  over  his  death.  The  “Children’s  Pilgrim’s 
Progress  ’  ’  was  a  charm,  the  sweetest  book  of  all  my  childhood,  and 
while  I  loved  Christiana  and  the  boys  and  Mercy,  how  like  a  per¬ 
sonal  Providence  grew  on  my  fancy  the  character  of  Greatheart  ! 
Feeling  as  I  do  even  now,  the  impress  of  those  earliest  books,  I 
grieve  sadly  to  have  missed  the  helpfulness  and  sweetness  of 
nature  I  might  have  learned  from  “Little  Lord  Fauntleroy.” 
Happ}^  children  of  the  present,  do  not  fail  to  read  it,  every  one  ! 

After  all,  the  best  religion  of  a  theoretical  kind  came  to  us  in 
our  Sunday  hour  of  song.  I  early  learned  to  play  on  the  melo- 
deon,  as  it  was  called,  but  had  no  fancy  for  the  piano,  and  I  re¬ 
member  how  much  meaning,  sweet  and  solemn,  we  used  to  find 
in  the  deep  tones  of  the  instrument  and  of  my  father’s  voice  as 
we  sang  the  hymns  we  loved. 

My  first  appearance  on  the  stage  was  in  Oberlin,  Ohio,  at 
the  age  of  three  or  four,  when  my  father  used  to  stand  me  up  on 
a  chair  and  have  me  sing  for  guests  in  my  queer  little  voice, 
especially  after  a  dinner,  as  I  remember,  the  song  was  always 
this  : 

“  They  called  me  blue-eyed  Mary  when  friends  and  fortune  smiled 
But  oh,  how  fortunes  vary !  I  now  am  sorrow’s  child  ; 

Kind  sir,  then  take  these  posies,  they’re  fading  like  my  youth, 

But  never  like  these  roses  shall  wither  Mary’s  truth.” 

When  mother  stood  me  up  on  a  chair  to  speak,  it  was  a  more 
warlike  “piece.”  P'ather  would  have  something  feminine,  or 
else  nothing  at  all  ;  but  mother  would  let  me  select  what  I  liked, 
and  this  is  a  specimen  of  my  choice  at  the  age  of  ten  years  : 

“  O  sacred  Truth  !  thy  triumph  ceased  a  while, 

And  Hope,  thy  sister,  ceased  like  thee  to  smile, 


I 


Almost  Named  for  Queen  Victoria . 


9 


When  leagued  oppression  poured  to  Northern  wars 
Her  whiskered  pandours  and  her  fierce  hussars. 

Tumultuous  horror  brooded  o’er  the  van, 

Presaging  wrath  to  Poland — and  to  man  ! 

Warsaw’s  last  champion  from  her  heights  surveyed 
Wide  o’er  the  fields  a  waste  of  ruin  laid — 

‘  Oh,  Heaven  !  ’  he  cried,  ‘  my  bleeding  country  save ! 

Is  there  no  hand  on  high  to  shield  the  brave  ? 

Yet,  though  destruction  sweep  these  lovely  plains, 

Rise,  fellowmen  !  our  country  yet  remains ! 

By  that  dread  name,  wTe  wave  the  sword  on  high. 

And  swear  for  her  to  live  ! — with  her  to  die  !  ’ 
****** 

In  vain,  alas  !  in  vain,  ye  gallant  few, 

From  rank  to  rank  your  volleyed  thunders  flew ; 

Hope,  for  a  season,  bade  the  world  farewell, 

And  Freedom  shrieked,  as  Kosciusko  fell !  ” 

I  can  recall  the  stirring  of  my  little  heart  as  the  drama  of  the 
brief  poem  proceeded,  and  how  almost  impossible  it  was  for  me 
to  hold  my  voice  steady  so  as  to  give  the  closing  lines.  Mother 
taught  me  how  to  speak  it,  where  to  put  in  the  volume  of  sound 
and  the  soft,  repressed  utterance,  and  as  for  the  pathos  I  knew 
where  to  put  that  in  myself. 

In  1868,  at  Warsaw,  the  capital  of  Poland,  I  stood  beside  the 
monument  of  Kosciusko,  and  while  my  tourist  comrades  read 
about  it  in  their  guide-books,  I  repeated  softly  to  myself  the  poem 
I  had  learned  on  the  Wisconsin  prairies,  and  looked  up  with  wor¬ 
shipful  glance  at  the  statue  of  the  hero  for  whom  my  heart  ached 
and  my  eyes  filled  with  tears  when  I  was  but  a  child. 

I  came  very  near  being  named  for  Queen  Victoria  !  Indeed, 
my  mother  was  quite  bent  upon  it.  The  youthful  sovereign  had 
recently  come  to  her  throne,  and  the  papers  were  full  of  accounts 
of  her  earnest  Christian  character,  while  the  highest  expectations 
were  cherished  of  what  she  would  accomplish  for  humanity.  But 
my  father  said  it  would  look  as  if  we,  who  were  the  most  demo¬ 
cratic  people  in  the  world,  were  catering  to  the  popular  idea,  and, 
what  was  worse,  regarded  royalty  with  favor,  so  mother  did  not 
have  her  wish,  but  was  well  pleased  with  -  the  name  Frances 
Elizabeth  Caroline,  which  she  and  father,  in  council  with  my 
score  of  uncles,  aunts  and  cousins,  concocted  after  much  con¬ 
sultation.  Frances  was  a  “  fancy  name,”  so  father  said.  Frances 


io  Takes  Dancing-stcps  to  a  Missionary  Tune. 

Burney,  the  English  writer,  and  Frances  Osgood,  the  American 
poet,  were  names  that  had  attracted  his  attention,  and  he  bestowed 
their  Christian  name  upon  what  was  then  his  only  daughter. 
Elizabeth  was  for  my  mother’s  third  sister,  described  in  ‘  ‘  Nineteen 
Beautiful  Years  ”  as  one  of  the  truest  women  that  ever  breathed, 
brave,  delicate,  and  with  a  piquant  speech  and  manner.  Her  life 
was  sorrowful  by  reason  of  an  unhappy  marriage,  and  her  death 
in  the  prime  of  her  years  was  a  release.  Caroline  (so  stands  my 
third  name  in  the  old  family  Bible)  was  my  father’s  youngest 
sister,  of  whom  it  may  justly  be  said, 

“  None  knew  her  but  to  love  her, 

None  named  her  but  to  praise.” 

Blithe  as  the  birds,  refreshing  as  the  showers  of  spring,  she 
led  a  rarely  happy  life.  After  the  death  of  her  noble  husband, 
Hosea  Town,  she  and  her  brother,  Zophar  Willard  (he  being  a 
widower  by  reason  of  my  mother’s  second  sister’s  death),  shared 
the  same  house,  and,  having  a  competence  of  this  world’s  goods, 
were  generous  helpers  of  every,  worthy  cause. 

My  mother  had  much  care  about  our  manners,  for  we  saw 
nothing  of  society,  and  she  knew  that  we  were  missing  real  ad¬ 
vantages,  while  at  the  same  time  we  were  escaping  real  dangers. 
Of  course  we  did  not  learn  to  dance,  but  mother  had  a  whole 
system  of  calisthenics  that  she  learned  at  Oberlin,  which  she  used 
to  put  us  through  unmercifully,  as  I  thought,  since  I  preferred 
capering  at  my  own  sweet  will,  out-of-doors.  There  was  a  little 
verse  that  she  would  sing  in  her  sjveet  voice  and  have  us  ‘  ‘  take 
steps  ’  ’  to  the  time  ;  but  the  droll  part  was  that  the  verse  was  out 
of  a  missionary  hymn.  And  this  is  as  near  as  I  ever  came  to 
dancing  school !  I  only  remember  this  : 

“Bounding  billows,  cease  thy  motion, 

Bear  me  not  so  swiftly  o’er  ! 

Cease  thy  motion,  foaming  ocean, 

I  will  tempt  thy  rage  no  more. 

For  I  go  where  duty  leads  me, 

Far  across  the  billowy  deep, 

Where  no  friend  or  foe  can  heed  me, 

Where  no  wife  for  me  shall  weep.” 

What  a  spectacle  was  that !  Mother  teaching  her  children 
dancing  steps  to  words  like  these.  She  had  a  copy  of  Ford 


Not  Handsome ,  to  Say  the  Least.  1 1 

Chesterfield’s  letters  to  his  son,  and  we  read  it  over  and  over 
again.  We  used  to  try  and  carry  out  its  ceremonial,  to  some  extent, 
when  we  had  our  make-believe  banquets  and  Fourth  of  Julys. 

Our  Mary  carried  conscientiousness  to  the  point  of  morbidity. 
I  remember  one  day  when  I  was  working  in  my  little  garden 
south  of  Forest  Home,  that  Mary  came  around  there,  standing  up 
and  looking  so  tear-stained  and  discontented,  and  said,  “Frank, 
I  have  done  so  and  so;  don’t  you  think  it  was  wrong?”  and 
what  she  did  was  so  infinitesimal  as  not  to  be  worth  the  thinking 
of,  much  less  repeating.  The  poor  little  thing  went  on  and  told 
me  so  many  things,  that  I,  who  had  no  such  “conscientious 
streak,”  as  I  used  to  call  it,  in  me,  said  to  her  that  I  was  tired 
of  this ;  that  I  should  have  a  talk  with  mother ;  that  it  was  moral 
unhealthfulness,  and  that  she  never  would  be  strong  and  happy 
if  she  did  not  give  it  up.  I  was  the  day-book  of  her  ill-desert, 
and  mother  was  the  ledger.  The  books  were  posted  every  night. 
This  was  when  Mary  was  about  ten  years  of  age.  She  afterward 
outgrew  the  morbid  part  and  only  retained  the  beautiful  and 
lofty  sense  of  duty  in  which  she  excelled  all  other  persons  whom 
I  have  ever  known. 

We  have  all  heard  the  story  of  that  philosophical  boy  who, 
when  looking  at  a  misshapen  tree,  said  “Somebody  must  have 
stepped  upon  it  when  it  was  a  little  fellow.  ” 

In  but  one  particular  did  a  calamity  of  this  sort  befall  me  as 
a  child,  and  that  related  to  my  personal  appearance.  Soothed, 
praised  and  left  at  liberty  by  my  mother,  that  home  deity  of  a 
sensitive  child,  all  happy  hopes  were  mine,  save  one — I  wasn’t 
the  least  bit  good-looking  !  To  make  this  fact  more  patent  and 
pronounced,  my  younger  sister  was  remarkably  attractive.  She 
was  plump,  and  I  was  thin  ;  she  had  abundant,  pretty  hair  of 
brown  ;  and  mine,  when  a  little  girl,  was  rather  sparse  and  posi¬ 
tively  red,  though  my  dear  mother  would  never  permit  me  or 
anybody  else  to  say  so.  When  in  those  early  days  at  Oberlin, 
some  hateful  boy  would  call  out  “Red  head”  as  I  passed,  or 
when  my  quick  temper  had  vented  itself  upon  my  brother  in 
some  spiteful  way,  and  he  used  the  same  opprobrious  epithet,  I 
would  run  at  once  to  mother  and  tell  her  with  rebellious  tears  of 
this  outrageous  treatment.  Her  beautiful  hand  would  smooth 
my  hated  hair  with  a  tenderness  so  magical  that  under  it  the 


T2 


Grandfather 's  Queue. 


scanty  strands  seemed,  for  the  moment,  turned  to  gold,  as  the 
kindest  of  all  voices  said,  “  Don’t  mind  those  boys,  Frankie,  the 
poor  things  don’t  know  what  they  are  saying  ;  you  get  your  hair 
from  your  Grandfather  Hill  ;  his  was  quite  bright-colored  (she 
never  would  say  “  red ”  )  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  but  it  was  a 
lovely  gold-brown  when  he  grew  up  ;  and  so  will  yours  be.  I 
wish  you  could  have  seen  your  Grandpa  Hill’s  queue,  a  thick 
braid  smartly  tied  up  with  a  black  ribbon.  I  never  saw  a  hand¬ 
somer  head  of  hair.  We  children  cried  when  the  fashion  changed 
and  father’s  queue  had  to  be  cut  off.  You  are  like  him,  every 
way,  and  he  was  the  noblest-looking  man  in  all  the  country 
round.” 

Sweet  ingenuity  of  mother-love  !  How  quickly  it  comforted 
my  heart  and  so  transformed  my  thoughts  that  I  forgot  myself  and 
saw  before  me  only  the  brave  figure  of  my  Grandpa  Hill !  But 
there  were  not  wanting  other  witnesses  who  took  sides  with  my 
mirror  rather  than  with  my  mother.  Our  first  dear  music  teacher, 
Mary  King,  of  Milwaukee,  a  blind  lady  who  had  graduated  from 
the  Institute  for  the  Blind,  in  New  York,  married  an  Englishman 
who  worked  for  us,  and  he  told  me  repeatedly  that  it  was  a  great 
pity  for  a  girl  to  be  so  “  plain  looking  ”  as  I,  especially  when 
she  had  a  younger  sister  so  attractive.  One  of  two  distant 
relatives,  a  girl  near  my  own  age,  said  on  slight  acquaintance, 
“Are  n’t  you  sorry  to  be  homely,  Frank?”  and  the  other 
declared  “to  my  very  face”  that  I  was  “the  drawn  image  of 
Mrs.  B.,”  who  was  the  farthest  from  good  looks  of  anybody, 
because  while,  like  myself,  she  had  regular  features,  her  eyes 
were  pale,  her  complexion  was  lifeless,  and  her  hair  the  color  of 
old  hay.  But  when  I  bemoaned  myself  to  mother  and  Mary,  of 
whom  I  could  no  more  have  been  jealous  than  the  left  hand  can 
be  of  the  right,  mother  would  say,  “  Come,  now,  Frank,  this  is 
getting  a  little  monotonous.  I  think  you  wrong  your  Heavenly 
Father  who  has  fitted  you  out  so  well,”  and  then  she  would 
analyze  each  feature  and  put  upon  it  the  stamp  of  her  approval, 
while  my  genial-hearted  sister  would  echo  every  word  and  say, 
“  Besides,  you  have  father’s  nice  figure  and  the  small  hands  and 
feet  of  both  houses,  so,  as  mother  says,  it  is  downright  sin  for 
you  to  berate  yourself  in  this  way.”  Dear  hearts  !  If  they  could 
but  have  waved  a  fairy  wand  over  my  head,  so  often  bowed 


Comfort  From  a  Portland  Lady. 


13 


because  of  this  one  grief,  how  soon  they  would  have  endowed 
me  with  Diana’s  beauty  and  been  far  happier  so  than  to  have 
gained  it  for  themselves. 

In  my  teens  I  became  a  devoted  student  of  Emerson  and 
took  this  verse  as  a  motto : 

“  I  pray  the  prayer  of  Plato  old, 

Oil,  make  me  beautiful  within, 

And  may  mine  eyes  the  good  behold, 

In  everything  save  sin.  ” 

“  The  mind  hath  features  as  the  body  hath  ” — mother  used  to 
din  that  thought  into  my  ears;  “Handsome  is  that  handsome 
does,  ”  was  my  father’s  frequent  proverb  ;  “  Never  mind,  Frank, 
if  you  are  n’t  the  handsomest  girl  in  the  school,  I  hear  them  say 
you  are  the  smartest,  ”  were  my  brother’s  cheery  words,  and  so 
that  magic  tie  of  home  love  and  loyalty  helped  me  along  until 
the  homeliest  of  mother’s  children  slowly  outgrew  the  pang 
of  being  so. 

When  I  was  thirty-five  I  made  my  first  temperance  speech 
away  from  home — Evanston  and  Chicago  counting  as  home  ever 
since  I  was  eighteen.  It  was  in  Portland,  Maine,  September  14, 
1874,  and  years  afterward  a  friend  sent  me  the  letter  that  follows, 
written  by  a  mother  to  her  children,  without  a  thought  that  it 
would  ever  meet  my  eye.  What  I  have  just  revealed  about  my 
greatest  personal  disadvantage  will  make  it  easier  to  estimate  the 
grateful  rejoicing  with  which  I  read  these  lines  : 

“  Last  night  I  attended  a  temperance  meeting  in  the  elegant 
Baptist  church  here.  I  counted  eighteen  bouquets  of  flowers,  be¬ 
sides  a  handsome  hanging-basket  over  the  pulpit.  Though  very 
large,  the  church  was  literally  packed.  The  speakers  were  men 
and  women.  Miss  Frances  Willard,  late  Dean  of  the  Woman’s 
College  in  Northwestern  University,  made  the  speech  of  the 
evening.  Her  language  was  remarkable  for  simplicity  and  elo¬ 
quence.  She  told  the  story  of  her  first  awakening  to  the  need  of 
women’s  work,  in  the  great  ‘  Temperance  Crusade.  ’  .  There 
was  a  pathos  in  some  of  the  pictures  which  she  drew  that  caused 
even  the  men  to  weep.  Having  been  Principal  of  a  Ladies’ 
School,  she  was  very  refined  and  highly  cultivated.  She  has  a 
straight,  elegant  figure,  an  oval  face,  a  wealth  of  light  brown 
hair,  and  a  clear,  bell-like  voice  made  her  a  very  effective  speaker. 
She  is  the  first  woman  I  ever  heard  in  public.  Pour  others  spoke. 
All  wore  their  bonnets.  ” 


i4 


Big  Wo?'ds — Boys ’  Marbles. 


Now,  though  I  knew  this  dear  lady  must  have  sat  far  back, 
so  that  she  did  n’t  even  note  my  eye-glasses,  I  thanked  God  and 
took  courage  as  I  read  her  no  doubt  lionestly-inteutioned  lines. 

My  mother’s  greatest  friend  and  solace  was  Mrs.  Hodge, 
wife  of  the  Yale  College  graduate  and  Oberlin  College  tutor  in 
Latin,  who,  for  his  children’s  sake,  taught  our  district  school  in 
1854.  Our  homes  were  about  a  mile  apart  and  their  “  cheek  by 
jowl  conferences,  ”  as  my  father  playfully  called  them,  occurred 
perhaps  once  a  fortnight  and  related  to  their  two  favorite  themes, 

‘  ‘  How  to  be  Christians  ourselves,  ’  ’  and  ‘  ‘  How  to  train  our  little 
ones.”  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hodge  had  decided  literary  gifts  and  were 
well  versed  in  the  best  English  authors.  To  her  I  went,  by  my 
mother’s  advice,  to  read  my  compositions  in  verse  and  prose. 
She  was  kind  but  not  enthusiastic.  From  her  unsparing  criti¬ 
cisms  I  went  swiftly  home  to  mother  to  get  my  spiritual  strength 
renewed.  But  I  think  now  that  Mrs.  Hodge,  who  under  favoring 
fortunes  would  have  been  a  successful  literary  woman,  took  a 
wise  view  of  the  situation.  “  Frank  will  have  a  long  youth,  ” 
was  one  of  her  oracular  remarks  to  my  mother;  “she  matures 
so  slowly  in  body  and  mind.  At  fifteen  years  old  she  has  the 
physique  of  a  girl  of  twelve  years,  and  though  in  some  things 
very  acute,  she  has  the  crudeness  of  penmanship,  pastime  and 
manner  that  belong  to  childhood.  When  I  hear  the  large  words 
she  uses,  and  then  see  her  down  in  the  mud  playing  marbles  with 
my  little  boys,  I  can  only  explain  the  incongruity  on  the  hypoth¬ 
esis  that  she  patterned  her  talk  after  that  of  her  parents  and  her 
play  after  her  own  childish  fancy.  ” 


II 


H  Mumping  (girl. 


“Every  place  is  haunted,  and  none  so  much  as  the 


ONE  WHERE  WE  LIVED  IN  OUR  YOUTH 


CHAPTER  I. 


MY  APPRENTICESHIP  TO  NATURE. 

“  These  as  they  change,  Almighty  Father,  these 
Are  but  the  varied  God  ;  the  rolling  year 
Is  full  of  Thee  ;  forth  in  the  pleasing  spring 
Thy  beauty  walks,  thy  tenderness  and  love.” 

—  Thomson's  Seasons. 

The  above  lines  from  a  book  early  and  often  read  by  me, 
express  what,  from  my  earliest  recollection,  has  been  to  me  the 
constant,  universal  voice  that  speaks  from  Nature’s  heart.  I  loved 
the  poets  because  they  uttered  the  wonder  and  the  worship  of 
which  my  soul  was  full ;  my  mother’s  memory  was  stored  with 
their  words  of  inspiration,  and  from  her  lips  I  learned  much  of 
Coleridge,  Cowper,  Thomson,  and  other  great  interpreters.  I 
have  never  elsewhere  heard  Wordsworth’s  “Intimations  of  Im¬ 
mortality  ’  ’  repeated  with  the  delicate  appreciation  that  was  in 
her  voice  when  she  once  more  rendered  it  for  me  recently,  on 
the  verge  of  her  eighty-fifth  year. 

How  often  looking  up  into  the  heavens  from  the  wide  prairies 
of  our  farm,  I  repeated,  almost  with  tears,  what  she  had  taught 
me  from  Joseph  Addison  : 

“  The  spacious  firmament  on  high 
And  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky 
With  spangled  heavens,  a  shining  frame, 

Their  Great  Original  proclaim  ; 

The  unwearied  sun  from  day  to  day 
Doth  his  Creator’s  power  display, 

And  publishes  to  every  land 
The  work  of  an  Almighty  hand.” 

•  “  Earth,  with  her  thousand  voices,  praises  God,”  has  always 

been  a  truth  upspringing  like  a  prayer  out  of  my  heart,  and 
turning  bitter  things  to  sweet. 

(I5> 


“  Near  to  Nature'1  s  Hearty 


16 

My  mother  says  that  her  own  mother,  an  unschooled  but  a 
God-smitten  nature,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  poets,  loved  to 
walk  the  woods  and  fieldsr  alone,  and  to  go  forth  under  the  open 
sky  at  night,  praising  with  voice  of  rapture,  the  great  and  blessed 
Spirit  who  had  made  the  universe  so  beautiful. 

My  father  had  a  heart  that  beat  closer  to  Nature’s  own,  than 
mother’s,  even  :  she  felt  the  moral  aspects  of  birds  and  woods  and 
sky  ;  he  loved  them  simply  for  themselves.  He  felt  at  one  with 
them  ;  their  sweet,  shy  secrets  seemed  to  be  open  to  him.  The 
ways  of  birds  and  butterflies,  the  habits  of  gophers,  squirrels,  and 
ants — he  seemed  to  know  about  them  as  a  faun  might,  and  he 
taught  us,  Sunday  and  every  day,  to  learn  them  ;  to  know  the 
various  herbs  and  what  their  uses  were  ;  to  notice  different  grasses 
and  learn  their  names  ;  to  tell  the  names  of  curious  wild  flowers. 
When  he  found  .something  new  to  him  in  any  floral  line,  he 
brought  it  home  as  a  great  curiosity  to  “study  up.’’  As  a  gar¬ 
dener  and  pomologist,  he  had  few  equals,  and,  later  on,  he  was 
for  years  president  of  the  State  Agricultural  and  Horticultural 
Society.  He  always  carried  his  little  spy-glass,  folded  two-foot 
measure,  and  pocket  thermometer,  teaching  us  how  to  use  them. 
He  carried  a  tape-line,  too,  and  was  fond  of  measuring  the  girth 
of  trees,  and  he  taught  us  to  make  a  thorough  study  of  the 
weather  as  well  as  of  the  woods. 

All  these  observations  were  made  at  “  Forest  Home  ’’  a  farm 
in  Wisconsin  where  we  lived  from  my  seventh  to  my  nineteenth 
year,  a  farm  that  we  made  out  of  the  woods  and  prairies,  little  by 
little,  putting  up  all  the  buildings  and  stocking  it  so  well  that  it 
became  the  prize  farm  of  Rock  county. 

The  way  of  it  was  this  :  after  four  years  of  hard  study  in 
Oberlin  College,  my  father’s  health,  which  never  was  strong, 
showed  symptoms  of  a  decline,  and  he  decided  to  go  West.  There 
was  no  railroad  and  so  we  put  our  household  goods  into  white- 
covered  wagons,  of  which  father  drove  one ;  my  brother  Oliver, 
twelve  years  old,  another ;  and  my  mother  the  third.  In  front  of 
her,  on  father’s  writing-desk,  sat  my  little  sister  and  I,  aged  seven  . 
and  four.  The  big  Newfoundland  dog,  Fido,  trotted  behind  this 
procession.  When  we  reached  Chicago  we  found  so  many  mud 
holes  with  big  signs  up,  “  No  bottom  here,’’  that  father  said  he 
“  would  n’t  be  hired  to  live  in  such  a  place.”  When  we  saw  the 


Outdoors  on  “  Rock  Prairie.” 


17 


great  Lake  Michigan,  we  little  girls  were  afraid.  Oliver  brought 
us  pretty  pebbles  with  wave-ripples  marked  on  them,  and  I  threw 
them  away,  saying  they  ‘  ‘  made  me  hear  the  roaring  of  that 
awful  sea.  ’  ’  Once  the  horse  that  mother  drove  went  down  in  the 
quicksand  almost  to  the  ears,  and  men  had  to  come  with  rails 
from  the  fences  and  pry  him  out.  We  never  traveled  on  Sunday, 
and  it  took  us  over  three  weeks  to  reach  our  destination,  and 
after  living  in  Janesville,  the  county-seat,  a  few  wTeeks,  while  the 
house  on  the  farm  was  building,  we  moved  into  it  before  it  had 
any  windows  or  much  of  any  roof.  But  it  was  beautiful  June 
weather,  and  we  children  thought  the  whole  affair  a  sort  of  joke 
and  “as  good  as  a  picnic.”  The  cook-stove  was  set  up  out-of- 
doors,  and  the  shavings  and  bits  of  shingles  made  nice  playthings. 
Oliver  built  a  play-house  for  his  sisters,  with  a  make-believe 
oven  where  we  could  have  a  real  fire,  and  also  a  make-believe 
stable  for  Fido,  who  was  our  make-believe  horse.  Father’s 
tenants,  who  lived  in  a  log-house  by  the  beautiful  Rock  river 
near  by,  brought  us  fish  and  game,  and  vegetables  from  their 
garden.  There  were  calves,  pigs  and  chickens  to  play  with,  and 
we  children,  who  had  always  lived  in  town,  thought  there  was 
never  anything  half  so  delightful  as  this  new  home  in  the  edge  of 
the  fine  groves  of  oak  and  hickory  that  lined  the  river,  and  look¬ 
ing  out  on  the  prairie  that  stretched  away  toward  the  east  until  it 
met  the  sky. 

As  years  passed  on,  we  learned  to  love  it  more  and  more, 
and  never  thought  of  being  lonesome  ;  though,  except  the  tenants, 
we  had  no  neighbors  within  a  mile  and  never  went  anywhere  in 
general  or  saw  anybody  in  particular.  We  had  no  toys  except 
wThat  we  made  for  ourselves,  but  as  father  had  a  nice  “kit”  of 
carpenter’s  tools,  we  learned  to  use  them,  and  made  carts,  sleds, 
stilts,  cross-guns,  bows  and  arrows,  “darts,”  and  I  don’t,  know 
what  besides,  for  our  amusement.  Oliver  was  very  kind  to  his 
sisters  and  let  us  do  anything  we  liked  that  he  did.  He  was  not 
one  of  those  selfish,  mannish  boys,  who  think  they  know  every¬ 
thing  and  their  sisters  nothing,  and  who  say,  “  You’re  only  a  girl, 
you  can’t  go  with  me,”  but  when  he  was  in  the  fields  plowing  he 
would  let  us  ride  on  the  beam  or  on  the  horse’s  back  ;  and  when 
he  wrent  hunting  I  often  insisted  on  going  along,  and  he  never 
made  fun  of  me  but  would  even  let  me  load  the  gun,  and  I  can 


x8  A  City  Visitor. 

also  testify  that  he  made  not  the  slightest  objection  to  my  carry¬ 
ing  the  game  ! 

Once  when  we  had  lived  on  the  farm  several  years,  a  bright 
girl  came  from  Janesville  to  spend  a  week  with  11s.  Her  name 
was  Flora  Comfort,  and  she  was  our  pastor’s  daughter.  She  told 
us  “  She  should  think  we  would  get  lonesome,  away  down  there 
in  the  woods.”  To  this  remark  we  took  great  exceptions,  for  we 
had  begun  to  think  that  ‘  ‘  Forest  Home  ’  ’  was  the  ‘  ‘  hub  of  the 
universe,”  and  to  pity  everybody  who  didn’t  have  the  pleasure 
of  living  there.  So  I  spoke  up  and  said,  “If  we  ought  to  have 
a  city  here,  we  will  have  one.  It  won’t  take  long  to  show  you 
how  that  is  done.  You  town  people  depend  on  others  for  your 
good  times,  but,  as  mother  is  always  saying,  we  have  to  depend 
on  our  own  resources,  and  I  propose  now  that  we  set  at  work  and 
have  a  town  of  our  own.” 

This  proposition  met  with  great  favor.  We  told  father  of  it 
when  he  came  home  from  Janesville,  whither  he  went  on  business 
almost  daily,  and  he  said,  “  All  right,  go  ahead.” 

So  a  consultation  was  held  in  “The  Studio,”  as  I  called  a 
room  fitted  up  in  the  attic,  where  my  sister  and  I  were  wont  to 
mould  in  clay,  making  all  sorts  of  utensils  as  well  as  what  we  were 
pleased  to  call  “  statues,”  of  whose  general  effect  the  less  said  the 
better.  There  we  consulted  long  and  loudly  about  the  plan  of  a 
city,  and  who  should  be  the  officers,  who  edit  the  paper,  how  the 
streets  should  be  named,  and  many  other  subjects  of  equal  import. 
At  last  little  Mary  grew  tired  and  went  to  sleep  on  the  old  ‘  ‘settee,  ’  ’ 
while  Oliver,  Flora  and  I  held  high  discourse,  the  burden  of 
which  was  a  name  for  the  new  city  and  how  it  should  be  gov¬ 
erned.  We  decided  at  once  that  it  should  have  no  saloons,  no 
billiard  halls,  and  that  it  would  not  need  a  jail.  Oliver  was  a 
great  wit,  and  amused  himself  by  introducing  outdoor  antics  into 
this  dignified  assembly,  much  to  my  disgust,  and  I  kept  telling 
him  that  if  he  dropped  the  make-believe  for  a  minute  he  would 
spoil  it  all,  whereupon  he  picked  up  a  bit  of  light-colored  clay 
from  my  work-bench,  and,  taking  off  a  piece,  flattened  it  out  and 
clapped  it  across  my  nose,  saying,  ‘  ‘  Why,  Frank,  what  a  nice 
impression  I  could  get  from  this.” 

“  Mr.  Willard.”  I  replied  sternly,  “  you  forget  the  proprieties 


“  Fort  City." 


T9 

of  the  occasion  ;  you  are  not  now  nty  brother  Oliver,  but  a  gentle¬ 
man  acting  with  me  in  an  official  capacity.” 

A  loud  ha  !  ha  !  from  the  gentleman  interrupted  ‘  ‘  the  pro¬ 
prieties  ”  still  more  —  waked  little  Maty  and  caused  the  dog  Fido 
to  set  up  a  howl  of  annoyance. 

‘  ‘  Have  n’t  you  made  any  plan  }^et  ?  Am  I  to  have  an  office  ?  ’  ’ 
murmured  little  Mary  from  among  her  pillows. 

“  Little  girls  should  be  quiet  when  statesmen  are  in  conver¬ 
sation,”  said  Oliver  in  a  deep  voice.  Mary,  being  of  an  amiable 
disposition,  was  easily  consoled  by  the  cooky  that  I  placed  in  her 
hand,  and  munched  it  contentedly,  while  Oliver,  Flora  and  I  con¬ 
tinued  to  talk  of  the  “  resources  of  the  corporation.”  Then  the 
debate  proceeded  until  at  my  suggestion  we  decided  upon  ‘  ‘  Fort 
City”  as  the  appropriate  name,  because  we  could  thus  com¬ 
bine  the  idea  of  adventure  with  that  of  life  in  town.  At  ten 
o’clock,  father  tapped  on  the  door  as  a  signal  that  young  per¬ 
sons  of  our  size  would  do  well  to  seek  “tired  Nature’s  sweet 
restorer.  ’  ’ 

“  Rome  was  not  built  in  a  day,”  neither  was  Fort  City.  We 
studied  carefully  the  pages  of  father’s  favorite  Janesville  Gazette , 
and  copied  out  names  for  the  streets.  Mother  said  of  course  the 
road  in  front  of  the  house  must  be  Broadway,  because  that  was  the 
most  famous  street  in  America.  So  we  put  up  a  shingle  painted 
white,  on  which,  from  a  pasteboard  where  our  ingenious  father 
had  cut  the  word  in  large  letters,  we  painted  the  name  black  and 
plain  as  print.  The  “by-road”  at  right  angles,  that  led  to  the 
river,  we  called  Market  Street,  because  it  ran  along  past  the  barn, 
the  cow-yard,  granary,  etc.  The  barn  was  “  Warehouse  of  J.  F. 
Willard,”  the  cow-yard,  “City  Market,”  the  well,  “  City  Foun¬ 
tain,”  the  hen-house,  “  Mrs.  Willard’s  Family  Supply  Store  ;”  the 
granary  was  “  City  Elevator, ”  and  the  pig-pen,  “City  Stock- 
Yards.”  We  had  a  “Board  of  Trade,”  and  “bought,  sold  and 
got  gain,”  the  question  of  money  having  been  at  last  decided  in 
favor  of  specie  payments  in  little  round  bits  of  tin,  representing 
silver  ;  while  some  handsome  yellow  leather,  that  father  brought 
us,  was  cut  into  circles  representing  gold,  and  stamped  to  stand 
for  any  sum  from  one  to  fifty  dollars.  But  I  insisted  that  we  ‘  ‘  must 
have  bank  notes  or  there  was  no  use  in  pretending  to  be  bankers,” 
so  the  city  treasurer  finally  issued  some  handsome  bills  painted 


20  Laws  of  “ Fort  City'' 

by  Mary  on  paper  that  had  been  nicely  pasted  over  small  strips 
of  cloth. 

A  good  deal  of  work  was  done  on  the  highways,  for  we  were 
dear  lovers  of  old  Mother  Earth,  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye 
would  leave  the  editor’s  sanctum  where  we  had  been  laboriously  • 
printing  The  Fort  City  Tribune ,  and  taking  the  fire-shovel,  one 
woidd  begin  spading  the  street  up  to  a  higher  level,  while  the 
other  would  fit  bricks  and  pebbles  into  a  queer  mosaic  to  make  it 
more  like  the  pavements  of  the  town.  A  few  minutes  later,  per¬ 
haps,  we  would  be  walking  on  the  ridge  of  the  house,  with  an  old 
rake  handle  for  our  “  balance-pole,”  then  crawling  in  at  a  dormer 
window,  we  would  scurry  down  the  back  stairs  and  have  a  shoot¬ 
ing  match  out  by  the  well,  with  bow  and  arrows.  For  Oliver  and 
Eoren,  a  boy  who  worked  for  us,  had  declared  that  “  the  girls  ” 
liked  the  city  part  of  this  great  “make-believe”  too  well,  and 
did  n’t  seem  to  remember  that  this  was,  after  all,  only  a  city  in  a 
fort,  of  which  the  fort  part  was  by  far  the  most  important.  The 
boys  insisted  that  it  was  high  time  to  have  an  attack  by  Indians, 
and  that  if  we  girls  did  n’t  agree  to  it  they  “would  n’t  play  city  ” 
any  more. 

Now  the  fact  was  that  we  girls  did  not  at  all  object  to  a  skir¬ 
mish  with  the  redskins,  but  we  had  played  that  often,  while  this 
game  of  the  city  was  new.  It  was  agreed,  therefore,  that  when 
corn-husking  was  over  there  should  be  a  regular  Indian  invasion. 

I  will  give  a  few  specimens  of  our  laws,  copying  them  from 
the  very  book  in  which  they  were  first  written  by  me,  a  wee  pam¬ 
phlet  bound  in  yellow  paper: 

LAWS  OF  FORT  CITY.— VOL.  I. 

(BY  authority.) 

I.  OFFICER’S  RAWS. 

i.  The  officers  shall  he  elected  once  a  month  by  ballot. 

They  shall  consist  of  a  Mayor,  Secretary,  Treasurer,  Tax-gatherer  and 
Postmaster. 

The  duty  of  the  mayor  shall  be  to  preside  at  all  meetings  of  the  officers. 
His  word  during  the  meetings  of  the  officers  shall  b<?  perfect  law.  If  any 
of  the  officers  shall  refuse  to  obey  him,  he  shall  immediately  turn  himself 
into  a  constable,  serve  a  writ  of  attachment  on  said  officer,  and  the  officer 
shall  pay  to  the  mayor,  a  fine  of  fifty  dollars  ;  one  third  of  the  same  fine  shall 
be  paid  to  the  mayor  by  any  officer  who,  on  rising  to  speak  in  any  of  the 


Famous  Lazo  of  “  I  Speak  for  It.” 


21 


meetings,  does  not  make  a  bow  to  the  mayor.  The  mayor  shall  wear  a 
badge  at  all  meetings  of  the  society,  and  whenever  he  goes  on  a  visit  to  any 
of  the  officers  ;  also  to  concerts,  shows,  lectures,  or  other  performances  of  a 
public  nature.  If  anybody  besides  the  mayor  takes  it  upon  himself  or  her¬ 
self  to  wear  a  badge,  he  or  she  shall  pay  to  the  mayor  fifty  dollars  for  the 
first  offense,  and  fifty  more  for  every  time  after  the  first.  Before  he  does 
anything  else  the  mayor  shall  be  sworn  in  by  the  secretary  in  the  following 
manner: 

“I  promise  faithfully  to  discharge  the  duties  of  my  office  for  one 
month  to  the  very  best  of  my  ability  ;  this  I  promise  on  my  sacred  honor.  ’  ’ 

He  shall  stand  up  and  hold  up  his  right  hand,  and  repeat  this  after  the 
secretary,  and  then  sign  his  name  to  it,  and  the  secretary  shall  keep  the 
paper,  but  the  mayor  may  keep  the  secretary’s  oath. 

II.  GENERAL  LAWS. 

1.  No  officer  shall  go  into  any  other  officer’s  room  without  permission 
from  the  owner,  or  forfeit  fifty  dollars  for  the  first  offense,  and  an  additional 
ten  for  each  future  offense.  For  the  second  he  shall  pay  the  fine  just  men¬ 
tioned  and  shall  have  his  hands  tied  behind  him  and  be  kept  in  the  city 
pound  for  five  minutes  in  total  darkness.  If  an  officer  goes  into  another’s 
room  and  the  other  does  not  see  him,  he  need  not  pay  any  fine  nor  be  put 
in  the  pound  ;  or  if  the  owner  of  the  room  be  absent  from  the  city  this  law 
has  no  effect.  A  person  may  also  go  into  another’s  room  provided  they  are 
sent  there  by  any  person  whom  they  must  obey,  but  they  must,  never  try  to 
get  sent  in. 

2.  Mrs.  Mary  T.  Willard  shall,  on  all  occasions,  act  as  judge  in  law 
cases  as  to  which  side  has  gained  the  day. 

3.  If  any  person  has  seen  or  heard  of  a  thing  he  wishes  to  have,  he 
shall  have  it  for  all  of  any  officer  of  this  city  :  that  is,  after  he  has  said,  1 
speak  for  that  thing ,  or  something  of  that  sort.  After  that,  if  any  officer  or 
signer  of  this  book  tries  to  get  it  away,  or  persuade  the  owner  not  to  give  it 
to  the  one  who  spoke  first,  said  person  shall  be  fined  two  hundred  dollars 
for  the  first  offense  and  twice  as  much  for  every  future  offense.  Since  it 
may  not  always  be  some  thing  that  the  speaker  wants,  the  law  is,  that  sup¬ 
posing  it  is  to  go  a  walking,  or  a  riding,  or  read  .some  book  or  paper  then  in 
the  hands  of  another,  whatever  it  is,  it  is  secured  to  the  one  who  speaks  for 
it  first,  if  he  can  get  it,  for  all  any  one  else,  except  the  owner.  If,  some¬ 
times,  two  speak  for  a  thing  at  a  time,  the  mayor  shall  decide  who  shall 
have  it,  only  we  promise  never  to  speak  for  a  thing  that  is  unfair  or  unrea¬ 
sonable,  or  that  we  know  we  can  not  get. 

4.  If  any  of  the  officers  find  any  of  the  others’  things,  he  shall  imme¬ 
diately  return  it  without  asking  or  expecting  any  pay,  and  show  himself  or 
herself  a  polite  gentleman  or  lady. 

Oliver  wished  to  hasten  our  Indian  fight  and  so  proposed 
that  we  girls  should  help  him  husk  the  corn,  which  we  were  glad 
to  do  for  the  outdoor’s  fun  of  it.  We  were  fitted  out  with  “husk- 


22 


The  Indian  ■ Invasion . 


ing-pins  ” — bits  of  hard  wood  whittled  to  a  point  and  fastened 
to  the  right  middle  finger  by  a  piece  of  leather.  With  this  the 
tough  husk  was  torn  open  and  the  ear  of  corn  wrenched  from  the 
stalk.  I  took  a  little  cricket  and  seated  myself  beside  a  big 
“shock”  of  corn,  resolved  to  run  a  race  with  Oliver  as  to  who 
should  husk  the  most  that  day,  with  the  understanding  that 
Mary  should  be  allowed  to  get  the  stalk  of  corn  ready  and  pass  it 
along  to  me.  She  was  also  to  take  care  of  thfe  tassel  that  topped 
out  each  ear,  for  they  were  sold  as  skeins  of  silk  in  mother’s 
handsome  dry-goods  store. 

The  dog  prowled  about,  carrying  an  ear  of  corn  from  one  of 
the  rival  heaps  to  another,  following  a  rabbit  scent,  or  bow-wow¬ 
ing  on  general  principles  as  best  suited  his  notions. 

“  Now,  as  to  that  Indian  raid,”  sang  out  Oliver  from  beside 
his  little  stack  of  corn,  “  I  will  head  the  attack  from  out-of-doors, 
and  Fido  shall  be  with  me.  You  may  stay  in  the  house  and  have 
Loren  to  help  you.  Mary  can  look  on,  but  must  not  be  in  the 
fight ;  that’s  a  fair  divide.” 

“  No,”  said  I,  “  let  it  be  this  way  :  you  and  Loren  and  the 
dog  may  club  together  out-of-doors.  Mother,  Mary  and  I  will 
defend  the  fort  inside,  and  I’d  like  to  see  you  ‘  effect  an  entrance,’ 
as  the  war  books  call  it.” 

“  Well,  I’m  surprised  at  you  for  being  so  risky,”  he  replied. 

1  “  I  warn  you  that  you  give  all  the  fighting  force  to  us  at  the 
start,  and  if  your  defense  does  n’t  turn  out  a  minus  quantity,  I 

miss  my  guess.” 

“Very  well,  you’ll  miss  it,”  was  my  vainglorious  answer, 
and  so  the  great  attack  was  planned. 

It  was  about  four  o’clock  of  the  brief  winter  day.  Snow 
covered  the  ground,  and  the  recent  beginning  of  a  thaw  followed 
by  a  sudden  freeze  had  made  a  solid,  slippery  crust,  which  I 
thought  to  be  a  disadvantage  to  the  boys  in  their  attack.  Every 
door  and  window  of  the  large,  rambling  farm-house  was  carefully 
fastened.  Mother  had  got  her  baking  out  of  the  way,  and  the 
ioaves  of  her  toothsome  “salt-rising”  bread  reposed  upon  the 
kitchen  table.  The  fat  Maltese  cat,  “  Trudge,”  purred  on  the 
hearth,  all  unconscious  of  approaching  hostilities. 

Tired  though  she  was,  mother  entered  heartily  into  the 
project  of  the  hour.  Bridget  was  gone  for  a  week’s  visit  at  her 


Women  to  the  Fore.” 


23 


(  ( 


brother-in-law’s,  otherwise  the  women  would  have  had  a  force 
unfairly  strong.  Mother  had  the  brain  of  a  statesman  and  the 
courage  of  a  major-general,  but  it  was  always  her  plan  to  put  her 
children  forward,  and  then  to  help  them  by  her  quiet  counsel. 
So  I  was  leader  of  the  forces  inside  the  “Fort.”  I  arrayed  my¬ 
self  in  an  old  coat  of  Oliver’s,  upon  which  Mary  had  sewed  some 
gilt  paper  epaulets,  and  I  fastened  a  hickory  sword  at  my  side. 
But  all  this  was  simply  a  dumb  show.  ‘  ‘  Pump  the  milk-pail  full 
of  water  and  have  the  dipper  handy,”  was  my  “  general  order 
number  one.”  “  Fet  Mary  keep  up  a  bright  outlook.  She’s  not 
to  fight,  but  she  can  watch  out  for  the  enemy,  as  Rebecca  did 
when  she  helped  Ivanhoe,”  was  number  two.  “  Fet’s  have  a  bit 
of  spare-rib  ready  with  which  to  coax  the  dog  away  from  those 
two  horrid  Injuns,”  was  number  three. 

“  Now,  mother,  you  keep  a  sharp  lookout  at  the  front  door. 
Take  the  broom  for  your  weapon,  and  whenever  you  see  a  head, 
hit  it.” 

“What  do  you  propose  to  do?”  asked  mother,  laughing, 
while  Mary  jumped  up  and  down  with  glee,  and  flattened  her 
audacious  little  nose  against  the  window  pane,  saying  in  mock 
alarm,  “  The  booger-man  will  catch  you  if  you  don’t  watch  out  !  ” 
I  explained  as  soberly  as  if  mother  and  I  had  not  talked  over  the 
whole  plan  the  day  before  :  “  It  is  my  part  to  generalissimo  the 

forces,  watch  the  back  door  and  have  this  garden  syringe  ready 
to  give  those  red  rascals  a  shower  bath  if  they  dare  to  show 
their  heads.  ’  ’ 

It  was  now  getting  dark  and  not  a  sign  of  life  was  to  be  seen. 
We  could  hear  the  sheep  bleating  in  their  fold  behind  the  barn 
and  the  gossip  of  the  hen-house  was  faintly  borne  to  our  keen 
ears,  as  our  beloved  “  Cochin  Chinas,”  “Polands”  and  “  Brah¬ 
mapootras  ’  ’  clambered  to  their  roosts.  It  was  almost  milking 
time  and  yet  no  attack  was  made ;  no  bark  of  Fido  betrayed  the 
wily  foe.  Where  were  those  boys  f 

Suddenly  we  heard  a  war-whoop  and  a  pow-wow  that  were 
enough  to  make  one’s  blood  run  cold.  Mary  shrieked  in  fright, 
but  pluckily  held  her  post,  while  I  muttered,  “  We  shall  need  a 
gag  for  the  spy  after  this  !  ’  ’ 

Mother,  convulsed  with  laughter,  raised  her  broom  with 
threatening  attitude,  and  called  out,  “I  will  die  at  my  post !  ” 


24 


Under  the  Snow. 


I  charged  the  syringe  and  placed  it  over  a  chair-back,  ready 
to  swing  in  whatever  direction  was  most  available.  Another 
Indian  screech,  and  the  cellar  door  that  opened  into  the  kitchen 
fell  flat  (the  boys  had  taken  out  all  the  screws  but  one)  ;  the 
dog  came  tearing  in,  but  received  such  a  deluge  of  water  that  he 
ran  howling  under  the  table,  while  the  cat,  fat  and  all,  flew  to 
the  top  of  the  sink  and  hissed  defiance  at  the  invaders  from  her 
safe  perch.  Oliver,  with  waving  feather  and  face  red  with  war¬ 
paint,  dashed  up  to  me,  and  with  a  terrific  whoop,  knocked  the 
water  apparatus  from  my  hand,  and  waved  his  wooden  scalp- 
knife,  while  Mary  jumped  on  the  table  and  set  up  a  wail  of  dis¬ 
appointment  to  think  I  had  been  beaten  ;  but  mother  claimed 
that  the  fort’s  garrison  was  not  altogether  defeated,  because,  with 
her  broom,  she  had  chased  Loren  down  cellar,  and,  clapping  the 
door  into  its  place,  was  at  that  moment  literally  “holding  the 
fort’’  against  him.  The  struggle,  like  many  of  which  we  read 
in  more  ambitious  records,  was  “short,  sharp  and  decisive,’’  for 
Loren  returned  to  the  attack,  and,  having  Oliver  to  help  him 
from  within,  soon  succeeded  in  forcing  the  door,  in  spite  of  my 
fierce  deluge  down  my  brother’s  spine,  and  mother’s  vigorous 
flourishes  impartially  distributed  among  the  two  boys  and  their 
four-footed  ally. 

When  the  Indians  were  finally  victorious,  and  sat  by  in  flam¬ 
ing  red  shirts,  worn  over  their  usual  garments,  and  with  wooden 
tomahawks  of  frightful  size,  while  their  waving  roosters’  feathers 
stuck  out  above  their  heads  (though  Oliver’s  were  somewhat 
lopped  by  reason  of  the  water),  mother  said,  “You  know  right 
well  that  in  the  open  field  we  are  a  match  for  you.  This  taking 
of  the  fort  has  been  done  by  your  miserable  Indian  strategy.’’ 

“Yes,  indeed,’’  we  girls  chimed  in,  “you  had  to  come  sneak¬ 
ing  around  so  that  we  hadn’t  a  fair  chance.” 

“  Of  course  we  did,”  smiled  Oliver  ;  “that’s  what  we’re  for. 
You  see,  I  had  been  reading  in  ‘  Western  Scenes  ’  about  some 
Indians  that  came  under  the  snow ,  so  Loren  and  I  just  dug  our 
way  under  the  solid  crust  to  the  cellar  window,  which  we  had 
already  loosened,  and  burst  in  the  door,  that  we  had  fixed  to  our 
liking,  and  what  could  you  do  after  that  ?  ” 

Sure  enough,  the  boys  had  won,  “  Indian  fashion,”  and 
nobody  could  complain. 


Needle  and  Dishcloth  Discounted. 


25 


“I  don’t  like  suck  plays,”  said  Mary,  sitting  on  mother’s 
lap;  “do  you?”  patting  her  cheek. 

“Why,  no.  I  like  the  city  better  than  the  fort,”  replied 
mother.  “  But  we  did  this  to  give  the  boys  a  frolic,  and  as 
they  got  the  better  of  us,  they  won’t  want  another  such  game 
very  soon.” 

“The  trouble  is,”  said  I,  not  feeling  very  much  elated  just 
then,  “  the  trouble  is,  not  that  we  were  outfought,  but  that  we 
were  outwitted.  The  next  time  you  want  an  Indian  fight,  boys, 
we’ll  be  ready  for  you  at  all  points.” 

But  the  discussion  of  the  battle  ended  abruptly  when  mother 
reminded  the  flushed  combatants  of  the  time,  and  soon  besiegers 
and  besieged  were  busy  in  removing  all  traces  of  the  conflict. 
Oliver  began  the  peaceful  work  of  mending  the  door  and  fasten¬ 
ing  the  cellar  window,  while  we  quickly  set  all  things  in  order  in 
the  kitchen.  Loren,  after  taking  off  his  Indian  “  toggery,” 
sped  out  into  the  darkness  to  do  his  evening  chores,  whistling 
merrily  as  he  went,  and  long  before  the  early  bed-time  came,  all 
the  inhabitants  of  Fort  City  had  settled  down  to  the  peaceful 
ways  of  civilized  life.* 

In  all  our  plays  (and  we  “  kept  a  hotel,”  among  the  rest,  in 
a  regular  ‘  ‘  shanty  ’  ’  play-house  that  was  built  for  us  by  a  carpen¬ 
ter  when  the  big  barn  was  goingup),  Mary  was  mine  hostess,  and 
I  mine  host.  Mother  did  not  talk  to  us  as  girls,  but  simply  as 
human  beings,  and  .it  never  occurred  to  me  that  I  ought  to 
“know  house-work  ”  and  do  it.  Mary  took  to  it  kindly  by  nat¬ 
ure  ;  I  did  not,  and  each  one  had  her  way.  Mother  never  said, 
“You  must  cook,  you  must  sweep,  you  must  sew,”  but  she 
studied  what  we  liked  to  do  and  kept  us  at  it  with  no  trying  at 
all.  There  never  was  a  busier  girl  than  I  and  what  I  did  was 
mostly  useful.  I  knew  all  the  carpenter’s  tools  and  handled  them  : 
made  carts  and  sleds,  cross-guns  and  whip-handles;  indeed,  all 
the  toys  that  were  used  at  Forest  Home  we  children  manufactured. 
But  a  needle  and  a  dishcloth  I  cotlld  not  abide  —  chiefly,  per¬ 
haps,  because  I  was  bound  to  live  out-of-doors.  This  was  so  from 
the  beginning,  and  perhaps  it  had  something  to  do  with  our 
noble  mother’s  willingness  to  live  out  in  the  country  away  from 
everybody  but  her  own.  Anyhow,  her  three  children  were  far 


♦Several  “  Indian  stories”  are  “bunched”  in  this  sketch. 


26 


Old-fashioned  Sunday. 


better  amused  because  left  to  amuse  themselves.  I  pity  the  poor 
little  things  that  have  so  many  toys  all  “brand  new  ”  from  the 
store,  and  get  no  chance  to  use  their  own  wits  at  invention  and 
to  develop  their  own  best  gifts.  “Fort  City”  taught  Oliver  and 
his  sisters  a  better  way. 

What  to  do  on  Sunday  with  these  restless  spirits  was  a  seri¬ 
ous  question,  for  father  and  mother  had  the  old  Puritan  training. 
It  was  in  their  birth  and  bones  that  the  Sabbath  was  a  day  holy 
unto  the  Lord.  This  feeling  was  even  stronger  in  my  father,  per¬ 
haps,  because  his  father  was  the  son  of  Elder  Elijah  Willard,  of 
Dublin,  N.  H.,  for  forty  years  pastor  in  that  parish,  a  good  man 
and  a  righteous,  who  trained  his  children  strictly  in  faith  and 
practice.  Perhaps,  also,  the  lawyer-like  character  of  his  mind  had 
something  to  do  with  his  greater  severity  in  holding  us  to  the 
white  line  of  what  he  deemed  our  duty.  For  himself,  he  would 
not  shave  or  black  his  boots  ;  he  would  not  read  or  write  a 
letter ;  he  would  not  so  much  as  look  in  the  dictionary  for  a  word 
upon  the  Sabbath  day.  He  said,  “The  children  must  have 
habits.  ’  ’  This  was  the  most  frequent  phrase  he  used  about  their 
training.  He  never  said  “good  habits,”  so  that  I  grew  up  with 
the  idea  that  there  were  no  habits  except  good  ones  !  He  said, 
“You  must  draw  your  lines  and  set  your  stakes,  for  if  you  don’t 
you  will  be  just  nobody.”  So  he  decided  that  no  calls  or  visits 
should  be  received  on  Sunday,  which  was  easy  enough  to  observe, 
as  there  was  nobody  to  come  but  the  birds,  and  nowhere  to  go  ex¬ 
cept  to  the  fields  and  pasture.  He  also  said  that  no  books  or 
papers  should  be  read  except  those  of  a  strictly  religious  nature. 
Mother  did  not  interfere  with  all  this  ,  by  any  word,  but  we  felt 
a  difference,  and  had  a  sense  of  greater  ‘  ‘  elbow  room  ’  ’  with  her. 
A  little  incident  illustrates  her  tact.  In  the  early  years  of  our 
farm  life,  one  New  Year’s  eve  came  on  Saturday  and  our  small 
presents  were  given  and  put  away  without  waiting  for  morning, 
because  father  thought  it  would  n’t  be  right  to  have  them  on  Sun¬ 
day.  One  can  hardly  imagine  the  bottled-up  condition  of  children 
in  such  a  case.  Fortunately  for  Oliver,  he  had  a  Sunday  book, 
“  Austin’s  Voice  to  Youth,”  and  little  Mary  had  a  child’s  edition 
of  Pilgrim’s  Progress,  so  they  could  get  at  work  on  their  presents. 
But,  alas  for  poor  me  !  My  prayer  and  dream  had  been  for  months, 
“some  pictures  to  look  at  on  Sunday,”  and  I  had  a  slate,  instead. 


BOSTON  COLLEGE  LlBR/  RT 

CHESTNUT  HILL,  MASS. 

The  Premium  Coaxe r.  27 

To  be  sure  I  had  devoutly  desired  a  slate,  for  I  had  imagined  any 
amount  of  things  that  could  be  written  and  drawn  upon  it,  but 
the  rule  of  the  house  did  not  permit  such  a  week-day  article  to 
come  into  use  upon  the  Sabbath.  At  last  I  hit  upon  a  plan,  and 
goingto  mother, — I  did  not  dare  suggest  even  this  to  the  revered 
“Squire,”  as  the  farmers  called  my  father — I  said,  in  a  pleading 
voice,  “  Mayn’t  I  have  my  new  slate  if  I’ll  promise  not  to  draw 
anything  but  meetirC  houses  f '  ’  (That’s  what  they  called  churches 
in  those  days.)  Mother  laughed  in  spite  of  herself  at  this  bit  of 
childish  ingenuity,  and  said,  “Yes,  you  may,  my  little  girl,  and 
mamma  will  make  you  a  pattern  to  go  by.”  So  there  was  peace 
and  quiet,  while  mother,  who  had  much  skill  with  her  pencil, 
made  a  “meeting  house,”  and  I  was  the  envy  of  my  brother 
and  sister,  who  had  before  thought  themselves  the  favored  ones. 

This  is  a  handy  place  in  which  to  mention  that,  though  we 
were  all  good  at  it,  the  premium  coaxer  .of  the  family  was  little 
Mary.  Whenever  the  others  wanted  a  master-stroke  in  this  line, 
they  sent  her  as  their  ambassador  at  court.  Mother  disliked  to 
let  us  be  exposed  to  the  damp,  changeable  days  when  winter 
was  just  giving  way  to  spring,  and  as  we  loved  “outdoors” 
better  than  any  other  place,  we  would  send  Mary,  who,  climbing 
on  mother’s  knee  and  stroking  her  face  with  her  soft  little  hands, 
would  murmur  in  the  sweetest  of  voices,  “Dear,  nice,  good, 
pretty,  beautiful  mamma,  it’s  warm, and  cool  and  comf table, 
and  won’t  you  please  let  us  go  out  and  play?”  After  which 
speech  and  performance  mamma  generally  did. 

But  to  return  to  the  Forest  Home  Sunday.  In  the  early 
days,  before  the  new  bridge  across  Rock  river,  we  were  four 
miles  from*  church,  and  as  we  cast  in  our  fortunes  with  the 
Methodists  (though  mother  was  a  Congregationalist),  we  were 
“on  a  circuit,”  and  the  minister  came  only  once  a  fortnight 
or  once  a  month.  Then  we  were  dressed  in  our  Sunday  best, 
the  big  wagon  was  brought  out  with  Jack  and  Gray,  and  family 
and  farm  hands  bundled  in — the  latter  to  be  dropped  at  the 
Catholic  church.  But  my  parents  soon  decided 'not  to  leave 
the  house  alone,  for  prairie  fires  sometimes  crept  unpleasantly 
near,  cattle  broke  into  fields  or  garden,  and  there  was  no  dinner 
when  we  got  home.  In  those  days  such  a  being  as  a  “  tramp  ” 
had  not  been  heard  of,  and  in  our  twelve  years  of  isolation  on 


2  8 


Dow 7i  in  the  Pasture. 


this  farm,  not  one  theft,  much  less  any  fright  or  danger,  befell 
us  brave  pioneers.  Once  a  drunken  man  came  in  to  warm  him¬ 
self  ;  once  we  found  behind  a  straw-stack  signs  of  men  having 
slept  there,  and  some  slices  of  bread  hidden  under  the  stack  ; 
sometimes  men  stopped  to  ask  about  the  “river  road  to  Beloit,” 
or  how  far  it  was  to  Janesville,  but  that  was  all.  The  present 
records  of  fright  and  peril  to  our  country  folks  seem  strange  and 
pitiful  to  one  who  remembers  how  safe  and  peaceful  was  their 
lot  long  time  ago. 

We  made  this  plan  at  Forest  Home  :  One  Sunday  father 
should  “hold  the  fort,”  the  next,  mother,  and  the  third,  Oliver. 
Whoever  did  this  had  to  get  the  dinner  ready,  and  as  both  father 
and  son  were  famous  cooks,  the  plan  worked  well.  Indeed,  to 
see  my  brother  brandish  the  carving-fork  in  air  as  we  ap¬ 
proached  on  our  return  from  church,  and  to  inhale  the  rich 
aroma  of  his  roast  chicken,  nice  home-raised  vegetables  and 
steaming  coffee,  was  an  event.  Sunday  dinner  was  to  us  the 
central  point  of  the  day,  and  served  to  keep  it  in  fragrant  mem¬ 
ory,  notwithstanding  its  many  deprivations. 

For  us  it  wft.s  all  very  well,  under  the  peculiar  circumstances, 
but  I  do  not  approve  of  a  Sunday  dinner  that  deprives  working 
people  of  their  rest  and  their  opportunity  to  go  to  church. 

Careful  as  he  was,  from  training  and  long  habit,  about  what 
we  should  read  upon  the  Sabbath  day,  father  was  quite  easy-going 
when  we  could  once  get  him  out-of-doors.  He  would  wThistle  to  the 
dogs — for  when  we  came  to  have  a  thousand  sheep  we  kept  three 
of  them — and  off  we  would  go  together  to  the  pasture,  father, 
we  girls  and  the  dogs,  leaving  Oliver  lying  upon  his  face  on  the 
front  piazza,  reading  his  beloved  “  D’Aubigne’s  History  of  the 
Reformation,”  and  mother  with  the  big  family  Bible  on  her  lap. 
As  we  wended  our  way  down  by  the  grassy  bank  of  the  broad, 
tree-shaded  river,  I  liked  to  lag  behind  and  “skip”  a  stone,  in 
which  art  I  was  something  of  an  adept.  But  Mary  would  wave 
her  hand  for  me  to  “Come  on,”  and  I  would  smilingly  desist. 
I  liked  to  clip  a  fresh  twig  from  the  alders,  or  to  make  a  “whistle  ” 
with  my  jack-knife,  but  father  said,  “Frances,  .you  know  I 
don’t  allow  you  to  keep  up  your  carpenter  work  on  Sunday.” 
Whereupon  I  answered  with  a  queer  pucker  about  the  lips,  that 
would  have  been  a  smile,  only  it  did  n’t  dare  to,  “But,  father, 


Out  in  the  Orchard. 


29 


can’t  I  whittle  if  I'll  promise  that  I  won’t  make  anything  ?  ”  and 
he  agreed  to  that.  He  would  even  cut  a  chip  from  the  gnarled  old 
cedar  tree,  and,  after  smoothing  it,  give  it  to  us,  and  say,  “  Did 
you  ever  smell  anything  more  wholesome  ?  ”  I  liked  this  so 
much  that  even  now  the  odor  of  red  cedar,  though  but  in  a  lead 
pencil’s  handle,  brings  back  to  me  the  river,  softly  flowing,  the 
sentinel  trees,  my  father’s  manly  figure  marching  at  the  head, 
Mary  and  me  walking  demurely  after,  in  the  path  the  cows 
had  worn. 

O11  Sunday  afternoon,  almost  the  only  leisure  time  she  had, 
mother  would  walk  a  little  while  with  us  children  in  the  orchard, 
taking  scissors  along  with  her,  and  clipping  a  sprig  of  caraway 
or  fennel  for  “  the  girls,”  or  a  bunch  of  sweet-smelling  pinks  for 
Oliver,  from  the  pretty  little  beds  in  the  heart  of  the  orchard, 
where  no  one  was  privileged  to  go  except  with  mother.  Here  she 
talked  to  us  of  God’s  great  beauty  in  the  thoughts  He  works 
out  for  us  to  learn  about  Him  by  ;  she  taught  us  tenderness 
toward  every  little  sweet-faced  flower  and  piping  bird  ;  she  made 
us  see  the  shapes  of  clouds,  and  what  resemblances  they  bore  to 
things  upon  the  earth  ;  she  made  us  love  the  Heart  that  is  at 
Nature’s  heart.  Thus  it  could  not  be  said  of  us,  as  of  poor 
Peter  Bell, 

“  In  vain  through  every  changeful  year 
Did  Nature  lead  him  as  before  ; 

A  primrose  by  the  river’s  brim, 

A  yellow  primrose  was  to  him, 

But  it  was  nothing  more.” 

Father  did  not  “talk  religion,”  as  we  called  it,  very  much, 
nor  did  our  mother.  They  had  family  prayers  always,  with 
Scott’s  “  Practical  Observations”  at  the  close  of  the  Bible  read¬ 
ing.  They  always  had  a  blessing  at  the  table,  and  if  father  did 
not  ask  it,  mother  did.  They  did  not  insist  that  the  children  read 
the  Bible  for  themselves,  and  I  was  very  shy  about  it,  the  ten¬ 
dency  of  my  mind  to  doubt  and  question  revealing  itself  even 
then  ;  when,  at  a  very  early  age,  the  Testament  was  specially  read 
to  me  on  Sunday,  I  had  asked,  ‘  ‘  How  do  you  know  God  sent  it  ?” 
And  if  the  family  Bible  was  sometimes  open  before  me,  I  would 
say  with  a  toss  of  the  head,  when  mother  expressed  pleasure  at 
the  sight,  “  I’m  looking  at  the  births  and  deaths,”  or,  “  I’m  only 


30 


Home  Songs. 


reading  tlie  Apocrypha.”  My  mother  had  the  good  sense  never 
to  seem  shocked  by  this  bit  of  bravado,  but  patted  the  busy  little 
head  with  her  kind,  steady  hand,  saying,  “  My  little  girl  will  be 
a  missionary,  yet.”  She  knew  these  symptoms  were  not  of  ugli¬ 
ness,  but  just  the  prancing  about  of  a  mettlesome  steed  before  it 
settled  to  life’s  long  and  difficult  race.  She  knew  the  more  she 
argued  and  reproved,  the  worse  the  case  would  be,  so  she  just 
lived  the  gospel  right  along  and  taught  its  precepts  and  prayed 
much. 

We  seldom  had  the  opportunity  to  attend  church  on  Sabbath 
evening,  but  our  song  service  at  home  was,  as  already  mentioned, 
an  inspiration  and  delight.  My  father  had  a  fine  bass  voice  and 
mother  a  tender,  well-trained  soprano.  There  were  no  “Gospel 
Hymns,”  but  in  the  Mother' s  Assistant — a  family  magazine  that 
they  subscribed  to  for  some  years — were  sweet  songs  of  Christian 
faith,  and  the  old  Methodist  hymn-book  with  its  “Guide  me, 
O  Thou  Great  Jehovah,”  and  Kirke  White’s  “The  Star  of  Beth¬ 
lehem,”  used  just  about  to  break  my  heart  in  the  sweet  summer 
twilights,  though  I  would  n’t  have  had  anybody  know,  save 
Mary.  Fair  and  bright,  in  spite  of  occasional  shadows,  seemed 
those  years  of  childhood  ;  still  fairer  and  brighter  they  seem  now. 

Father  made  us  big  paper  hats,  shaped  like  cornucopias, 
trimmed  with  peacock  feathers  and  painted  with  “  Injun  fights,” 
by  ingenious  sister  Mary.  Then  mother  sewed  for  us  belts  of 
bright  red  flannel,  in  which  were  stuck  wooden  swords,  bunches 
of  arrows,  etc.,  as  we  marched  away  on  hunting  expeditions. 
Father  was  so  careful  of  his  girls  and  so  much  afraid  that  harm 
would  come  to  us  if  we  went  horseback  riding,  that  I  determined 
to  have  a  steed  of  my  own,  contrived  a  saddle,  and  trained  a 
favorite  heifer,  “  Dime,”  to  act  in  that  capacity.  “She  can  do  it 
if  she  has  a  mind  to,”  was  my  unvarying  reply  to  all  the  ingen¬ 
ious  objections  of  Oliver,  who  said  that  a  creature  which  chewed 
the  cud  and  divided  the  hoof  was  never  meant  for  riding  purposes. 
He  also  claimed  that  Dime  did  her  part  when  she  gave  milk,  and 
ought  not  to  be  put  through  at  this  rate.  But  I  took  the  ground 
that  “cows  were  a  lazy  set,  and  because  they  never  had  worked 
was  no  reason  why  they  should  n’t  begin  now.  Up  in  Lapland 
they  made  a  great  many  uses  of  the  deer  that  people  did  n’t 
where  we  live,  and  he  was  all  the  better  and  more  famous  animal 


A  Bovine  Bucephalus. 


3i 


as  a  result  of  it.  So,  since  father  would  n’t  let  me  ride  a  horse,  I 
would  make  Dime  the  best  trained  and  most  accomplished  cow  in 
the  pasture  ;  and  Dime  would  like  it,  too,  if  they’d  only  let  her 
alone.”  So  with  much  extra  feeding  and  caressing,  and  no  end 
of  curry-combing  to  make  hsr  coat  shine,  I  brought  Dime  up  to  a 
high  degree  of  civilization.  She  would  *  ‘  moo  ’  ’  whenever  I  ap¬ 
peared,  and  follow  me  about  like  a  dog  ;  she  would  submit  to 
being  led  by  a  bridle,  which  Loren,  always  willing  to  help,  had 
made  out  of  an  old  pair  of  reins  ;  she  was  gradually  broken  to 
harness  and  would  draw  the  hand-sleds  of  us  girls ;  but  the 
crowning  success  was  when  she  ‘  ‘  gqt  wonted  ’  ’  (which  really 
meant  when  she  willed)  to  the  saddle,  and  though  I  had  many 
an  inglorious  tumble  before  the  summit  of  my  hopes  was  reached, 
I  found  myself,  at  last,  in  possession  of  an  outlandish  steed, 
whose  every  motion  threatened  a  catastrophe,  and  whose  awk¬ 
wardness  was  such  that  her  trainer  never  gave  a  public  exhibition 
of  the  animal’s  powers,  but  used  to  ride  out  of  sight  down  in  the 
big  ravine,  and  only  when  the  boys  were  busy  in  the  field.  Jack 
and  Gray  were  the  chief  farm  horses,  and  to  see  Oliver  and  Loren 
mount  these,  and  go  tearing  over  the  prairies  like  wild  Indians, 
was  my  despair.  This  was  the  one  pleasure  of  farm  life  that  was 
denied  the  girls,  but  when  I  was  fifteen,  father  declared,  at 
mother’s  earnest  request,  that  “the  girls  might  now  ride  the 
horses  whenever  their  mother  thought  best.  ’  ’  Many  a  time  did 
she  take  her  stand  in  the  road  and  watch  us  while  we  galloped 
“  to  the  ravine”  near  “  Bluff  Wood,”  the  Hodge  homestead,  and 
back  again.  To  offset  my  “trained  cow,”  Mary  had  a  goat  for 
which  panniers  (side-pockets)  had  been  made,  in  one  of  which  a 
nice,  toothsome  lunch  was  often  placed,  which  Bridget  took  great 
pleasure  in  providing,  and  in  the  other,  our  sketching  materials. 
A  sheep-bell  was  tied  on  the  goat’s  neck  and  to  see  us  with  our 
tall  caps,  red  belts,  and  cross-guns  on  shoulder,  wending  our  way 
to  the  groves  along  the  river  bank,  while  the  dog  Fido  scoured 
the  bushes  for  gophers,  often  returning  to  walk  in  the  procession, 
was  the  delight  of  mother’s  heart,  for  well  she -knew  how  pleasant 
and  how  healthful  all  this  was  to  her  two  girls.  Mary  wore  the 
official  badge  of  *  ‘  Provider,  ’  ’  for  the  practical  part  of  the  expedi¬ 
tion  was  in  her  charge.  This  badge  was  a  bit  of  carved  pine,  like 
a  small  cane,  painted  in  many  colors  and  decorated  with  a  ribbon. 


32 


Kindness  to  Animals. 


The  one  who  wore  it  had  the  “say,”  about  what  the  lunch  should 
be,  and  where  and  when  it  should  be  eaten  ;  also  whether  Fido 
had  behaved  well  enough  to  go  along,  and  many  other  questions 
not  needful  to  repeat.  When  the  time  came,  a  nice  white  table¬ 
cloth  was  spread,  and  some  of  mother’s  light,  sweet  bread,  with 
butter  that  fairly  smelled  of  violets,  and  nice  sugar  strewn  over  it, 
was  set  in  order,  with  a  piece  of  pumpkin  pie  and  a  few  hickory 
nuts.  Our  drink  was  water,  bright  from  the  crystal  spring  up 
the  bank,  and  we  brought  it  in  a  bottle  and  drank  it  through  a 
clean-cut  straw.  We  asked  a  blessing  at  the  table,  and  acted  like 
grown  folks,  so  far  as  we  could.  This  generally  closed  the  expe¬ 
dition,  but  before  eating  we  would  fish,  chiefly  for  “minnies  ”  (or 
minnow  fish),  and  we  usually  had  several  of  these  little  swimmers 
in  dishes  at  home,  which  was  a  pity,  for  they  died  after  a  few  days. 
We  did  not  mean  to  be  unkind  to  animals,  for  mother  had  taught 
us  better,  but  we  did  n’t  think,  sometimes.  One  of  the  first  bits 
of  verse  mother  ever  repeated  and  explained  to  us  was  this,  from 
her  favorite  poet,  Cowper  : 

“  I  would  not  rank  among  my  list  of  friends, 

Though  graced  with  polished  manners  and  fine  sense, 

Yet  wanting  sensibility,  the  man 
Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm .” 

Then  there  were  other  beautiful  lines  on  the  same  subject, 
by  Wordsworth,  I  think,  which  closed  with 

“This  lesson,  shepherd,  let  us  two  divide, 

Taught  both  by  what  life  shows  and  what  conceals, 

Never  to  blend  our  pleasure  or  our  pride 
With  sorrozu  of  the  meanest  thing  that  feels.” 

We  used  to  shoot  at  a  mark  with  arrows  and  became  very 
good  at  hitting,  so  much  so  that  at  my  request,  Mary,  whose 
trust  in  her  sister  was  perfect,  stood  up  by  a  post  with  an  auger- 
hole  in  it,  and  let  me  fire  away  and  put  an  arrow  through  the  hole 
when  her  sweet  blue  eye  was  just  beside  it.  But  this  was  wrong, 
and  when  we  rushed  in  “  to  tell  mother,”  she  did  n’t  smile,  but 
made  us  promise  “  never,  no,  never,”  to  do  such  a  thing  again. 

Down  by  the  river  bank,  Maty  took  her  pencil  and  made 
sketches,  such  as  they  vTere,  while  I  delighted  to  lie  stretched 
out  upon  the  grass,  look  up  into  the  blue  sky  and  “  think  my 


“  Drowning  Out  ’  ’  a  Gopher. 


33 


thoughts.  ’  ’  Sometimes  I  would  reach  out  my  hand  appealingly 
toward  heaven,  and  say  to  her :  ‘  ‘  See  there  !  could  you  resist  a 
hand  that  so  much  wanted  to  clasp  your  own  ?  Of  course  you 
could  n’t,  and  God  can  not,  either.  I  believe  that,  though  I  do 
not  see  that  He  reaches  down  to  me.”  And  lovely,  trusting 
Mary  answered  :  “I  know  He  does,  for  mother  says  so.” 

One  day  when  we  girls  were  thus  having  our  good  times 
down  by  the  river,  the  three  Hodge  boys  came  along,  hunting  for 
birds’ nests.  “But  you  must  n’t  carry  any  away  !  ”  said  Mary, 
greatly  stirred.  “  You  may  climb  the  trees  and  look,  if  you  want 
to  see  the  eggs  or  little  ones,  but  you  can’t  hurt  a  birdie,  big  or 
little,  in  our  pasture.”  The  boys  said  their  mother  told  them 
the  same  thing,  and  they  only  wanted  to  “look.”  So  Mary 
and  I  showed  them  under  the  leafy  covert  some  of  the  brown 
thrush’s  housekeeping,  and  the  robin’s,  too,  and  then  we  told 
them  that  since  they  were  such  kind  boys,  and  did  n’t  want  to 
kill  the  pretty  creatures  God  had  made,  and  since  they  had  just 
come  West  and  did  n’t  know  all  the  ways  we  had  out  here,  we 
would  help  them  to  ‘  ‘  drown  out  a  gopher,  ’  ’  and  they  might  have 
it  if  they  wanted  to. 

John  was  delighted ;  Rupert’s  eyes  fairly  danced,  but 
thoughtful  Jamie,  “the  preacher,”  as  they  called  him,  said, 

‘  ‘  But  why  do  you  drown  out  a  gopher  ?  Is  that  a  kind  thing 
to  do  ?  ” 

“Well,  it  is  this  way,”  explained  the  Western  prairie  girls  ; 
“  the  gopher  digs  up  the  corn  and  spoils  the  crop.  Many  a  time 
we’ve  dropped  corn  into  the  hills  for  Oliver  or  father  till  we’ve 
tired  ourselves  out  getting  it  under  ground,  and  along  would 
come  this  black-striped  yellow-coat  and  eat  up  our  crop  before  it 
was  started.  So  father  said  it  was  our  plain  duty  to  catch  as 
many  as  we  could,  and  we’ve  set  traps  and  tried  all  sorts  of  ways, 
but  the  one  the  boys  like  best  is  drowning  out.  Father  told  us 
that  the  poet  Cowper,  who  writes  so  well  about  kindness  to 
animals,  says  ‘  Our  rights  are  paramount  and  must  extinguish 
theirs  ;  ’  that  is,  when  they  spoil  our  work,  we  are  obliged  to  spoil 
them,  for  the  general  good.” 

The  boys  thought  there  was  common  sense  in  this,  and  I  led 
the  way  to  a  hole  in  the  ground  about  as  large  around  as  an  ear 
of  corn,  where  Fido  had  been  clawing  for  some  time.  “The  way 


34 


A  Figure- Four  Trap. 


we  do  is  to  pour  water  into  the  hole,  stand  there  with  a  big  stick 
or  a  shovel,  and  when  the  gopher  comes  crawling  up,  Fido 
snatches  him  by  the  throat,  and  the  poor,  drenched  thing  does  n’t 
have  long  to  suffer,  you  may  be  sure,”  said  Mary.  So  John  went 
to  the  house  for  a  couple  of  pails  and  he  and  Rupert  brought 
water  from  the  river,  Jamie  and  we  watched  at  the  hole,  one  with 
a  shovel  and  the  others  with  sticks,  and  the  dog  was  wild 
with  importance  and  delight.  Pretty  soon  the  poor,  wet  gopher 
crawled  to  the  front,  his  mouth  open,  and  his  long  teeth  in  full 
view7.  “Whack”  went  the  .shovel,  but  “snap”  went  old  Fido’s 
jaws,  and  the  “  happy  corn-fields,”  as  I  said,  claimed  the  destroyer 
so  unwelcome  here.  “What  !  you  don’t  think  that  gophers  will 
have  another  life?”  said  preacher  Jamie,  quite  shocked  by  the  idea. 

“  I  only  know  that  mother  says  John  Wesley  thought  the 
birds  would  go  to  heaven,  and  the  Indians  think  that, 

‘  Transported  to  that  equal  sky, 

Their  faithful  dogs  shall  bear  them  company,’  ” 

vTas  my  reply.  “It  is  a  thing  that  nobody  can  tell  anything 
about,  but  I  like  to  think  the  fact  of  life  predicts  the  fact  of  im- 
mortalit}7.  ’  ’ 

“  Did  n’t  mother  put  that  into  your  head  ?  ”  asked  Mary  as 
we  wended  our  way  home. 

I  said  I  guessed  so,  for  she  always  answered  all  my  questions 
and  told  me  so  much  that  I  hardly  knew  where  her  thoughts 
ended  and  mine  began. 

Sometimes  in  winter  I  would  set  a  “figure-four  trap”  down 
in  the  grove  south  of  “Fort  City,”  where  I  caught  many  a 
plump  quail.  The  trap  w7as  nothing  but  a  rough  box,  held  up 
on  the  edge  by  three  sticks,  fitted  together  like  the  figure  4,  and 
having  fastened  to  the  cross  bar  of  the  figure  a  few  grains  of 
wheat.  When  the  little  “more  wheat”  singing  quails  pecked 
away  at  the  stick  to  knock  off  these  grains,  the  whole  thing  fell 
dowm  and  they  wrere  prisoners.  I  used  to  put  011  an  old  coat  of 
father’s,  and  some  droll  little  boots  my  brother  had  outgrown, 
and,  perching  a  soft  hat  on  my  head,  wend  my  way  over  the 
snow’s  hard  crust  to  see  my  trap.  But  I  never  killed  a  quail.  I 
would  bring  them  home  and  hand  them  over  to  Loren,  who  soon 
set  them  free  into  the  heavenly  bird-land.  Then  Bridget  would 


‘  ‘  Father  ’  s  Room .  ’  ’ 


35 


pick,  stuff  and  cook  the  quails,  putting  in  flavored  bread  crumbs 
and  such  delicious  “summer  savory  ”  as  never  was  tasted  before 
or  since,  and  browping  the  delicious  game  to  a  turn.  All  this 
we  considered  a  right  and  proper  thing  to  do,  because  quails  could 
be  eaten,  and  so  were  useful  and  were  not  killed  for  mere  sport. 
But  Mary,  whose  heart  was  pitiful  as  an  angel’s,  used  to  wish 
that  ‘  ‘  folks  could  get  along  without  meat,  and  not  kill  the 
creatures  with  such  bright,  kind  eyes  as  calves  have,  and  lambs, 
and  little  birdies,”  and  her  older  sister,  who  was  given  to 
‘  ‘  branching  out,  ’  ’  would  tell  her  she  ‘  ‘  presumed  that  time  would 
come,  and  hoped  it  might.  Anything  that  you  could  imagine 
was  apt  to  happen  some  day.” 

“  Father’s  Room”  was  a  sort  of  literary  refuge  to  all  con¬ 
cerned.  Here  were  his  tall  book-case  and  his  desk  that  locked  up, 
with  which  latter  no  mortal  ever  interfered  for  the  good  reason 
that  its  black,  velvet-lined  interior  was  never  seen  save  when 
“  the  Squire  ”  was  seated  there  at  work.  He  would  sit  for  days 
making  out  the  tax  list  of  the  (real)  town,  writing  his  speech 
for  the  fair,  or  his  “  History  of  Rock  County,”  and  we  would  be 
near  him,  at  work  with  brush,  or  pen,  or  pencil,  never  .speaking  a 
word  to  each  other  or  to  him.  All  other  rooms  in  the  house  were 
full  of  life  and  talk  and  music,  but  “  Father’s”  was  a  place  of 
privilege  conditioned  upon  quiet ;  therein  we  children  were  on  our 
best  of  good  behavior,  and  even  the  cat,  of  which  he  was  very 
fond,  ceased  to  be  frisky  when  admitted  to  the  room  which  its 
owner  called  his  “  sanctum  sanctorum.” 

My  father  did  not  believe  in  medicine — I  mean,  not  as  most 
people  do.  He  thought  every  family  ought  to  pay  so  much  a 
year  to  the  doctor,  and  then  deduct  for  every  day’s  illness.  He 
said  this  would  soon  make  all  the  M.  D.’s  careful  students  of 
how  to  keep  folks  well,  instead  of  how  to  get  them  well  when  by 
their  own  carelessness  the}7"  had  fallen  sick.  He  used  to  say 
that  God  had  but  about  half  a  dozen  laws  of  health,  and  if  peo¬ 
ple  would  only  study  these  and  obey  them,  they  would  have  a 
happy,  well-to-do  life.  He  thought  it  was  wonderful  how  easy 
our  Heavenly  Father  has  made  it  for  us  in  this  world,  if  we  will 
“only  take  hold  of  it  by  the  right  handle.”  Just  as  He  made 
but  one  law  in  the  Garden  of  Eden — so  easy  to  remember — and 
in  all  other  things  Adam  and  Eve  could  act  of  their  own  free 


36 


How  to  Keep  Well. 


will,  so  in  the  new  Garden  of  Eden  that  we  called  Forest 
Home,  and  in  the  great  world,  there  were  few  things  to  do,  and 
then  all  would  have  health.  He  did  n’t  say  ‘ 'good  health,”  for 
he  was  not  one  of  those  who  ever  said,  “  I  enjoy  bad  health  !  ” 
In  the  first  place,  it  was  n’t  enjoyable,  and  in  the  next,  there 
was  no  kind  of  health  but  good ,  since  the  word  itself  meant 
wholeness  or  holiness, — a  perfect  state,  as  compared  with  the 
imperfect  state  of  being  sick. 

In  Oberlin  he  had  been  much  attached  to  Dr.  Jennings,  a 
cold-water  physician  who  had  written  a  book  on  right  living, 
which  father  read  more  than  anything  else  except  his  Bible 
and  A.  J.  Downing’s  Horticulturist.  If  we  had  sore  throats, 
a  cold  water  compress  was  put  on  ;  when  I  stepped  on  a  nail,  and 
might  easily  have  had  locked-jaw,  mother  lifted  me  into  the 
kitchen  “sink”  and  pumped  water  over  the  aching  member; 
when  on  a  summer  morning  Oliver’s  leg  was  broken  by  an  ugly 
ox,  his  mother  sat  beside  him,  attending  to  the  cold-water  band¬ 
age  by  night  and  day  for  a  week.  And  yet,  in  the  twelve  years 
of  our  farm  life,  “  The  Happy  Five  ”  (as  I  was  wont  to  call  them) 
knew  almost  nothing  about  sickness.  Our  golden  rules  were 
these,  worthy  to  be  framed  beside  the  entrance  door  of  every7 
home  : 


“GOLDEN  RULES  OF  HEALTH.” 

Simple  food ,  mostly  of  vegetables ,  fish  and  fowls. 
Plenty  of  sleep ,  with  very  early  hours  for  retiring. 
Flannel  clothing  next  the  skhi  all  the  year  round; 
feet  kept  warm ,  head  cool ,  and  nothing  worn  tight. 

fust  as  much  exercise  as  possible ,  only  let  fresh  air 
and  sunshine  go  together. 

No  tea  or  coffee  for  the  children ,  no  alcoholic  drink 
or  tobacco  for  anybody. 

Tell  the  truth  and  mind  your  parents. 


“  But  yet,  Fort  City  must  have  a  doctor,  or  else,  you  see,  it 
would  n’t  be  a  city,”  I  pleaded  one  day.  So,  being  told  to  “go 
ahead,”  I  collected  a  lot  of  spools,  whittled  the  projecting  part 
off  the  smaller  end  of  each,  and  made  a  stopper  for  it,  plugged  the 
other  end  with  a  bit  of  wood,  and  so  had  a  fine  outfit  of  bottles, 
which  were  labeled  with  all  the  outrageous  names  of  drugs  that 


Spring-time  at  Forest  Home . 


37 


mother  or  I  could  think  of,  only  the  real  contents  (fortunately) 
were  sugar,  starch,  salt,  flour,  pepper,  etc.,  from  the  store-room. 
Mary  made  for  me  a  large  assortment  of  powder  papers,  cut  in  dif¬ 
ferent  sizes  ;  surgical  instruments  were  shaped  from  bits  of  tin, 
with  handles  of  wood  ;  a  tin  watch  was  used  in  counting  the 
pulse,  and  poor  Mary,  stretched  out  on  two  chairs,  obligingly 
“  made  believe  sick.”  The  following  extract  from  the  journal 
that  I  dutifully  kept  through  all  those  years,  will  give  the  out¬ 
come  of  my  medical  experience  : 


Sister  was  sick,  and  I  brought  out  all  my  little  bottles  of  sugar,  salt 
and  flour.  Besides  these  medicines,  I  dosed  her  with  pimento  pills,  and 
poulticed  her  with  cabbage  leaves,  but  she  grew  no  better  quite  fast,  so 
mother  called  another  doctor.  Dear  me,  if  I  were  my  brother,  instead  of 
being  only  a  girl,  we’d  soon  see  whether  I’ve  talent  for  medicine  or  not. 


But  the  “other  doctor”  was  purely  imaginary,  for  Mary 
jumped  up  and  ran  off  with  Oliver  after  the  cows,  telling  me  that 
I  could  “  try  my  skill  on  the  calves  or  the  cat  next  time,”  and 
the  young  M.  D.  got  quite  a  lesson  from  her  mother  on  the  value 
of  moderation  in  medicine  and  all  other  undertakings. 


1C 

A ! 


I  have  said  but  little  about  winter-time  at  Forest  Home. 
The  truth  is,  it  seemed  to  us  that  when  the  lovely  summer  and 
beautiful  autumn  days  were  gone,  they  never  would  come  back. 
And  though  we  made  sleds  and  went  coasting,  took  care  of  our 
scores  of  pets,  set  our  figure-four  traps  for  quails,  and  played  ‘  ‘  Fort 
City  ’  ’  with  great  zest,  it  remains  true  that  we  greeted  the  return 
of  spring  with  such  keen  delight  as  city  children  can  not  know. 
The  first  flower — who  should  find  and  bring  it  home  to  mother  ? 
That  was  a  question  of  the  highest  interest,  and  little  Mary  was 
quite  as  likely  as  the  older  ones  to  win  this  beautiful  distinction. 
The  hill-side  behind  the  house,  the  “Big  Ravine,”  and  “  Whale’s- 
back,”  near  the  Hodge  homestead,  were  the  favorite  hiding- 
places  of  the  “March  flower,”  “wind  flower,”  or  “anemone,” 
that  hardy  pioneer  which  ventured  first  to  spread  its  tiny  sail 
and  catch  the  favoring  breeze.  Next  came  the  buttercups,  then 
the  violets,  and,  later  on,  the  crow’s-foot  geranium,  shooting  star, 
wild  lady’s  slipper,  wild  rose  and  lily,  and  a  hundred  sweet,  shy 
flowers  with  unknown  names.  But  the  spring  sounds  were  more 
to  me  than  the  spring  posies. 

Tike  all  rural  people,  our  family  rose  at  day-break  in  spring, 


38 


The  Prairie  Chickens'  Chorus. 


in  winter  long  before  that  time.  Father  went  to  his  desk ;  Oliver, 
Loren,  and  the  “  hired  hands  ”  went  to  the  cow-yard  to  milk,  or 
to  the  barn  to  feed  the  horses  ;  Mary  and  I  cared  for  our  special 
pets,  the  turkeys,  chickens,  and  pea-fowls,  the  rabbits,  goats, 
calves,  colts  and  dogs,  while  mother  and  Bridget  got  the  break¬ 
fast.  But  when  the  witchery  of  spring-time  came,  we  girls  would 
take  turns  about  waking  each  other,  and  first  of  all  in  the  house 
would  steal  away  to  our  best-beloved  “  Outdoors.”  It  seemed 
to  us  that  we  learned  secrets  then,  such  as  dear  old  Mother  Nature 
did  not  tell  to  most  folks. 

We  sought  the  quiet  dells  in  the  “  north  pasture,”  where  a 
sort  of  wild  mint  grew,  with  smell  so  fresh  and  sweet  as  can’t 
be  told,  and  where  were  mosses  lovelier  than  the  velvet  of  the 
Oueen’s  throne.  We  put  our  ears  to  the  ground,  as  Indians  do, 
and  heard  sounds  afar  off,  or  thought  we  did,  which  answered 
just  as  well.  Voices  came  to  us  as  we  listened,  through  the 
woods  and  from  the  prairie  near  by,  that  thrilled  our  hearts  with 
joy.  The  jay,  the  bluebird  and  the  robin  made  music  vastly 
sweeter  than  any  we  ever  heard  elsewhere  or  afterward.  But  the 
‘  ‘  prairie-chickens  ’  ’  had  organized  the  special  orchestra  that  we 
listened  to  with  most  delight  in  the  fair  spring  days.  It  was 
a  peculiar  strain,  not  a  song  at  all,  as  everybody  knows,  but  a 
far-off,  mellow,  rolling  sound,  a  sort  of  drumbeat,  rising  and 
falling,  circling  through  the  air  and  along  the  ground,  “  so  near, 
and  yet  so  far,”  it  seemed  to  us  like  a  breath  from  Nature’s  very 
lips.  Perhaps  it  came  so  gently  and  with  such  boundless  wel¬ 
come  to  our  hearts,  because  it  was  the  rarest,  surest  harbinger  of 
spring.  Now  the  lambs  would  soon  be  playing  in  the  pastures  ; 
now  the  oriole  would  soon  be  flashing  through  the  trees,  the 
thrush  singing  in  the  fields,  and  the  quail’s  sweet  note,  ‘‘more 
wheat,”  would  cheer  the  farmer  at  his  toil  ;  the  river  would  soon 
mirror  the  boughs  that  would  bend  over  it  in  their  rich  summer 
green,  for  winter  was  over  and  gone,  fresh  spring  rain  was  often 
on  the  roof,  and  the  deep  heavens  grew  warm  and  blue.  All 
these  things  were  in  the  far-off,  curious  notes  of  the  prairie-chick¬ 
ens  that  we  never  saw,  but  only  listened  to  with  smiling  faces, 
while  girls  and  chickens,  after  their  own  fashion,  thanked  God 
that  spring  had  come  once  more. 

In  the  earlier  years  at  Forest  Home,  prairie  fires  were  a  gor- 


Fighting  a  Prairie  Fire. 


39 


geous  feature  of  the  spring  landscape.  Only  a  few  times  did  they 
come  near  enough  to  make  us  anxious.  Returning  from  church 
one  Sabbath  noon  with  Oliver,  mother  saw  one  of  her  mile-away 
neighbors  motioning  to  her  vigorously, — a  woman,  by  the  way, 
who  didn’t  believe  in  “  going  to  meetings,”  for  which  reason, 
father  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  her  family  outside  of  bus¬ 
iness.  Oliver  stopped  the  horses,  and  coming  out  to  her  gate 
Mrs.  P.  said,  “  You’d  better  be  at  home  ’tending  to  your  prairie 
fires  ;  the  neighbors  are  fighting  them  for  you,  and  trying  to  save 
your  buildings.” 

Oliver  whipped  up  his  team,  and  away  they  flew  down  the 
river  toward  Forest  Home.  There  they  found  father  in  his  shirt¬ 
sleeves  directing  the  forces  that  had  already  put  the  fire  to  rout. 
He  had  strolled  out  with  Mary  and  me  to  “  take  an  observation,  ” 
as  he  called  it,  and  had  seen  the  fire  bearing  down  in  braggart 
style  from  Mr.  Guernsey’s  prairie  toward  a  log  tenement  house 
where  one  of  our  hired  men  was  living.  The  house  was  closed, 
for  all  the  family  (Catholic)  had  gone  to  church.  “  Bring  some 
pails,  girls,  and  follow  me,”  said  father,  as  he  ran  toward  this 
house,  which  was  in  danger. 

“  I  know  what  he’ll  do,”  said  I  to  Mary,  as  we  armed  our¬ 
selves  with  pails,  and,  whistling  to  the  dogs,  scampered  away 
following  father ;  “of  course,  he  must  fight  fire  with  fire,  or  else 
Ed  Carey’s  house  is  gone.” 

It  was  a  long  run,  through  the  orchard,  across  the  Big  Ravine 
and  over  a  stretch  of  prairie,  but  we  were  not  far  behind  our 
father.  We  found  him  “back-firing,”  as  it  was  called  ;  that  is, 
setting  the  grass  burning  all  along  between  the  fire  and  the 
house,- and  then,  with  a  neighbor  or  two,  beating  it  out  again 
when  the  flame  grew  too  strong.  We  brought  water,  thrashed 
away  at  the  grass  with  sticks,  and  grew  black  in  the  face,  not 
from  work,  but  from  the  smoke  and  cinders.  By  the  time  Oliver 
and  mother  appeared  on  the  scene,  the  crisis  was  over  and  we 
girls  clambered  into  the  democrat  wagon,  covered  all  over  with 
dirt  and  glory,  and  both  telling  at  once  about  the  hair-breadth 
’scape  of  Edward’s  house.  But  for  the  most  part  the  prairie  fires 
were  among  the  pleasant  features  of  spring,  for  they  seldom  did 
any  harm.  In  burning  over  a  new  section  of  land,  before  break¬ 
ing  it  up  with  the  plow,  men  would  fire  it  from  each  of  the  four 


40 


The  Breaking  Plow. 


sides  and  let  it  burn  toward  the  center.  The  grass,  so  long, 
thick,  and  sometimes  matted,  made  a  bright,  high  wall  of  flame, 
sending  up  columns  of  smoke  like  a  thousand  locomotives  blow¬ 
ing  off  steam  at  once.  At  night  these  fires,  on  the  distant  horizon, 
looked  to  us  like  a  drove  of  racing,  winged  steeds  ;  or  they  swept 
along,  dancing,  courtesying,  now  forward,  now  backward,  like 
gay  revelers  ;  or  they  careered  wildly,  like  unchained  furies  ;  but 
always  they  were  beautiful,  often  grand,  and  sometimes  terrible. 

Another  rich  experience  that  came  to  my  sister  and  me  was 
following  the  “  breaking  plow”  in  spring.  Just  after  the  prairie 
fire  had  done  its  work  and  the  great  field  wTas  black  with  the  car¬ 
pet  it  had  spread,  came  the  huge  plow,  three  times  as  large  as 
that  generally  used,  with  which  the  virgin  soil  was  to  be  turned 
upward  to  the  sun.  Nowadays  in  the  far  West,  that  keeps  going 
farther  every  year,  they  use  steam  plows.  Just  think  of  a  loco¬ 
motive  out  in  the  boundless  prairie,  going  so  fast  and  far  that 
one  would  n’t  dare  tell  how  many  miles  it  gets  over  in  a  day  ! 
But  away  back  in  the  forties  and  fifties,  so  distant  from  these 
wonderful  eighties  in  which  we  live,  we  thought  that  nothing 
could  go  beyond  the  huge  plow,  with  steel  “mould-board”  so 
bright  that  you  could  see  your  face  in  it;  “beam  ”  so  long  that 
wre  two  girls  could  sit  upon  it  for  a  ride  and  have  space  for  half  a 
dozen  more  ;  formidable  “colter  ” — a  sharp,  knife-like  steel  that 
went  before  the  plowshare  to  cut  the  thick  sod — and  eight  great, 
branch-horned  oxen  sturdily  pulling  all  this,  while  one  man  held 
the  plow  by  its  strong,  curving  handles,  and  another  cracked  a 
whip  with  lash  so  long  it  reached  the  heads  of  the  head  oxen  away 
at  the  front.  As  father  generally  held  the  plow,  and  Oliver,  who 
was  very  kind  to  animals,  the  whip,  Mary  and  I  used  to  enjoy  run¬ 
ning  along  and  balancing  ourselves  on  the  great  black  furrow,  as 
it  curved  over  from  the  polished  mould-board  and  lay  there 
smooth  and  even  as  a  plank.  Sometimes  the  plow  would  run 
against  a  snag  in  the  shape  of  a  big  “  red-root”;  for,  strange  to 
say,  the  prairie  soil,  where  no  tree  was  in  sight,  had  roots,  some¬ 
times  as  large  as  a  man’s  arm,  stretching  along  under  ground. 
Then  would  come  a  cheery  “  Get  up,  Bill  !  Halloa  there,  Bright ! 
Now’s  your  time,  Brindle !  ”  The  great  whip  would  crack 
above  their  heads  ;  the  giant  creatures  would  bend  to  the  yoke  ; 
4  4  snap  ’  ’  would  go  the  red-root  and  smooth  would  turn  the  splen- 


i 


The  Eagle' s  Nest,  Beware  !  ” 


4i 


C  < 


did  furrow  with  home  and  school  and  civilization  gleaming  from 
its  broad  face,  and  happy  children  skipping,  barefooted,  along 
its  new-laid  floor.  These  were  ‘  ‘  great  times  ’  ’  indeed  !  As  the 
sun  climbed  higher  and  the  day  grew  warm,  we  would  go  to  the 
house,  and  compound  a  pail  of  “harvest  drink,”  as  father  called 
it,  who  never  permitted  any  kind  of  alcoholic  liquor  in  his  fields 
or  at  his  barn-raisings.  Water,  molasses  and  ginger  were  its  in¬ 
gredients,  and  the  thirsty  toilers,  taking  it  from  a  tin  dipper, 
declared  it  “  good  enough  to  set  before  a  king.” 

Later  on,  we  girls  were  fitted  out  with  bags  of  corn,  of  beans, 
onion,  turnip  or  beet  seed,  which  we  tied  around  our  waists,  as, 
taking  hoe  in  hand,  we  helped  do  the  planting,  not  as  work, 
but  “just  for  fun,”  leaving  off  whenever  we  grew  tired.  We 
‘  ‘  rode  the  horse  ’  ’  for  Oliver  when  he  ‘  ‘  cultivated  corn’  ’ ;  held  trees 
for  father  when  he  planted  new  ones,  which  he  did  by  scores 
each  spring  ;  watched  him  at  “  grafting  time  ”  and  learned  about 
‘  ‘  scions  ’  ’  and  ‘  ‘  seedlings  ’  ’ ;  had  our  own  little  garden  beds  of 
flowers  and  vegetables,  and  thought  no  blossoms  ever  were  so 
fair  or  dishes  so  toothsome  as  those  raised  by  our  own  hands. 
Once  when  I  was  weeding  onions  with  my  father,  I  pulled  out 
along  with  the  grass,  a  good-sized  snake  by  the  tail,  after  which 
I  was  less  diligent  in  that  department  of  industry.  The  flower- 
garden  was  a  delight  to  people  for  miles  around,  with  its  wealth 
of  rare  shrubs,  roses,  tulips  and  clambering  vines  which  mother 
and  her  daughters  trained  over  the  rambling  cottage  until  it 
looked  like  some  great  arbor.  I  had  a  seat  in  the  tall  black  oak 
near  the  front  gate,  where  I  could  read  and  write  quite  hidden 
from  view.  I  had  a  box  with  lid  and  hinges,  fastened  beside  me, 
where  I  kept  my  .sketches  and  books,  whence  the  ‘  ‘  general  pub¬ 
lic  ”  was  warned  off  by  the  words  painted  in  large,  black  letters 
on  a  board  nailed  to  the  tree  below:  “The  Eagee’s  Nest, 
Beware  !  ”  Mary  had  her  own  smaller  tree,  near  by,  similarly 
fitted  up. 

Oliver  thought  all  this  was  very  well,  but  he  liked*  to  sit 
betimes  on  the  roof  of  the  house,  in  the  deep  shade,  or  to  climb 
the  steeple  on  the  big  barn,  by  the  four  flights  of  stairs,  and  “  view 
the  landscape  o’er,  ”  a  proceeding  in  which  his  sisters,  not  to  be 
outdone,  frequently  imitated  him.  Indeed,  Oliver  was  our  fore¬ 
runner  in  most  of  our  outdoor-ish-ness,  and  but  for  his  bright, 


42 


Outdoor  Gaines  for  Girls. 


tolerant  spirit,  our  lives,  so  isolated  as  they  were,  would  have 
missed  much  of  the  happiness  of  which  they  were  stored  full. 
For  instance,  one  spring,  Oliver  had  a  freak  of  walking  on  stilts  ; 
when,  behold,  up  went  his  sisters  on  stilts  as  high  as  his,  and 
came  stalking  after  him.  He  spun  a  top  ;  out  came  two  others. 
He  played  marbles  with  the  Hodge  boys  ;  down  went  the  girls 
and  learned  the  mysteries  of  “  mibs,”  and  “  alleys,”  and  the  rest 
of  it.  He  played  ‘‘quoits  ”  with  horseshoes  ;  so  did  they.  He 
played  ‘‘ prisoner ’s-base  ”  with  the  boys;  they  started  the  same 
game  immediately.  He  climbed  trees  ;  they  followed  after.  He 
had  a  cross-gun  ;  they  got  him  and  Loren  to  help  fit  them  out  in 
the  same  way,  and  I  painted  in  capitals  along  the  side  of  mine  its 
name,  “  Defiance,”  while  Mary  put  on  hers,  plain  “  Bang  Up  !  ” 
After  awhile  he  had  a  real  gun  and  shot  muskrats,  teal,  and  once 
a  long-legged  loon.  We  fired  the  gun  by  “  special  permit,”  with 
mother  looking  on,  but  were  forbidden  to  go  hunting  and  did  n’t 
care  to,  anyway.  Once,  however,  Oliver  “dared”  me  to  walk 
around  the  pasture  ahead  of  him  and  his  double-barreled  gun 
when  it  was  loaded  and  both  triggers  lifted.  This  I  did,  which 
was  most  foolhardy,  and  we  two  “ne’er-do-weels,”  whose  secret 
no  one  knew  but  Mary,  came  home  to  find  her  watching  at  the 
gate  with  tear-stained  face,  and  felt  so  ashamed  of  ourselves  that 
we  never  repeated  the  sin — for  it  was  nothing  less.  Oliver  was 
famous  at  milking  cows;  his  sisters  learned  the  art,  sitting  beside 
him  on  three-legged  stools,  but  never  carried  it  to  such  perfection 
as  he,  for  they  were  very  fond  of  milk  and  he  could  send  a  stream 
straight  into  their  mouths,  which  was  greater  fun  than  merely 
playing  a  tuneful  tattoo  into  a  tin  pail,  so  they  never  reached 
distinction  in  the  latter  art.  They  did,  however,  train  the  cat  to 
sit  on  the  cow’s  back  through  milking  time.  Oliver  could  har¬ 
ness  a  horse  in  just  about  three  minutes  ;  his  sisters  learned  to  do 
the  same,  and  knew  what  “hames”  and  “tugs”  and  “hold¬ 
backs”  were,  as  well  as  “  fetlock,  ”  “hock,”  and  “pastern.” 

There  were  just  four  things  he  liked  that  we  were  not  allowed 
to  share — hunting,  boating,  riding  on  horseback  and  “going  swim¬ 
ming.”  But  at  this  distance  it  looks  to  this  narrator  as  if 
hunting  was  what  he  would  better  not  have  done  at  all,  and  for 
the  rest,  it  was  a  pity  that  “  our  folks”  were  so  afraid  “the  two 
forest  nymphs  ”  might  drown,  that  they  didn’t  let  them  learn 


Boy  Comrades. 


43 


how  not  to — which  boating  and  swimming  lessons  would  have 
helped  teach  ;  and  as  for  horseback-riding,  it  is  one  of  the  most 
noble  sports  on  earth  for  men  and  women  both.  We  proved  it  so 
when  (after  the  calf-taming  episode)  it  was  permitted  us,  by  the 
intercession  of  our  mother,  who  had  been  a  fine  rider  in  her 
younger  years. 

Happy  the  girls  of  the  period  who  practice  nearly  every  out¬ 
door  sport  that  is  open  to  their  brothers  ;  wear  gymnastic  suits  in 
school,  flee  to  the  country  as  soon  as  vacation  comes,  and  have 
almost  as  blessed  a  time  as  we  three  children  had  in  the  old  days 
at  Forest  Home.  It  is  good  for  boys  and  girls  to  know  the  same 
things,  so  that  the  former  shall  not  feel  and  act  so  overwise.  A 
boy  whose  sister  knows  all  about  the  harness,  the  boat,  the  gym¬ 
nastic  exercise,  will  be  far  more  modest,  genial  and  pleasant  to 
have  about.  He  will  cease  to  be  a  tease  and  learn  how  to  be  a 
comrade,  and  this  is  a  great  gain  to  him,  his  sister,  and  his  wife 
that  is  to  be. 

Here  are  some  bits  from  journals  kept  along  through  the 
3^ears.  They  are  little  more  than  hints  at  every-day  affairs,  but, 
simple  as  they  sound,  they  give  glimpses  of  real  life  among  the 
pioneers. 

From  Mary’s  : 

Frank  said  we  might  as  well  have  a  ship,  if  we  did  live  on  shore,  so  we 

took  a  hen-coop  pointed  at  the  top,  put  a  big  plank  across  it  and  stood  up, 

one  at  each  end,  with  an  old  rake  handle  apiece  to  steer  with.  Up  and 

down  we  went,  slow  when  it  was  a  calm  sea  and  fast  when  there  was  a  storm, 

till  the  old  hen  clucked  and  the  chickens  all  ran  in,  and  we  had  a  livelv 

•  — 

time.  Frank  was  captain  and  I  was  mate.  We  made  out  charts  of  the  sea 
and  rules  about  how  to  navigate  when  it  was  good  weather,  and  how  when 
it  was  bad.  We  put  up  a  sail  made  of  an  old  sheet,  and  had  great  fun  till  I 
fell  off  and  hurt  me. 

To-day  Frank  gave  me  half  her  dog,  Frisk,  that  she  bought  lately,  and 
for  her  pay  I  made  a  promise  which  mother  witnessed,  and  here  it  is  : 

“  I,  Mary  Willard,  promise  never  to  touch  anything  lying  or  being  upon 
Frank  Willard’s  stand  and  writing-desk  which  father  gave  her.  I  promise 
never  to  ask,  either  by  speaking,  writing  or  signing,  or  in  any  other  way, 
any  person  or  body  to  take  off  or  put  on  anything  on  said  stand  and  desk 
without  special  permission  from  said  F.  W.  I  promise  never  to  touch  any¬ 
thing  which  may  be  in  something  upon  her  stand  and  desk.  I  promise 
never  to  put  anything  on  it  or  in  anything  on  it.  I  promise,  if  I  am  writing 
or  doing  anything  else  at  her  desk,  to  go  away  the  minute  she  tells  me.  If 
I  break  this  promise  I  will  let  the  said  F.  W.  come  into  my  room  and  go  to 


44 


Drops  into  Poetry  and  Tears. 


my  trunk,  or  go  into  any  place  where  I  keep  my  things,  and  take  anything 
of  mine  she  likes.  All  this  I  promise  unless  entirely  different  arrangements 
are  made.  These  things  I  promise  upon  my  most  sacred  honor.” 

Mother  says  Frank  liked  to  walk  on  top  of  the  fence,  and  to  chop  wood 
with  a  broken  ax  handle,  and  to  get  Oliver’s  hat  while  he  was  doing  his 
sums,  and  put  it  on  her  head  and  go  out  to  the  barn. 

I’ve  made  a  picture  of  the  house  Frank  was  born  in — mother  helped,  of 
course  ;  she  always  does.  I  was  born  in  Oberlin,  and  that’s  a  nicer  town  than 
Frank’s.  I  remember  Mr.  Bronson  and  Mr.  Frost — they  were  students  in 
Oberlin,  and  boarded  at  our  house.  I  guess  it’s  the  very  first  thing  I  do  re¬ 
member—  how7  they  made  us  little  rag  dolls  and  drew  ink  faces  on  them,  and 
we  really  thought  they  were  nice;  but  we  should  n’t  now,  I  know,  for  my 
doll  Anna  is  as  big  as  a  real  little  girl,  and  father  painted  her  with  real  paint 
and  mother  fastened  on  real  hair,  and  I  made  her  clothes  just  like  mine  ;  but 
she  is  a  rag  doll  all  the  same,  only  she’s  good,  and  not  proud  like  a  wax  doll. 

Mr.  Carver  and  Miss  Sherburn  went  with  us  from  Oberlin  to  Wisconsin. 
They  are  both  good  Christians,  and  Mr.  C.  often  led  in  prayer  at  family 
worship  ;  but  when  he  killed  our  puppies  (though  father  told  him  to)  I 
thought  he  was  a  sort  of  awful  man. 

.From  mine  : 

I  once  thought  I  w7ould  like  to  be  Oueen  Victoria’s  Maid  of  Honor  ; 
then  I  wanted  to  go  and  live  in  Cuba  ;  next,  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would 
be  an  artist ;  next,  that  I  would  be  a  mighty  hunter  of  the  prairies.  But 
now  I  suppose  I  am  to  be  a  music  teacher — “simply  that  and  nothing  more.” 

When  it  rained  and  filled  the  stove  so  full  of  water,  standing  right  out 
on  the  ground,  that  mother  could  n’t  even  boil  the  kettle  for  tea,  we  did  n’t 
think  it  very  funny.  Mother  had  n’t  any  money  to  get  us  Christmas  pres¬ 
ents  ;  father  was  sick  in  bed  with  ague,  and  yet  we  hung  up  our  stockings, 
and  Oliver  put  his  boot  strap  over  the  front  door  knob.  So  mother  stirred 
around  and  got  two  false  curls  she  used  to  wear  when  it  was  the  fashion  to 
wear  them  on  a  comb,  and  put  one  in  my  stocking  and  one  in  Mary’s,  with 
little  sea-shells  that  she  had  kept  for  many  years,  also  an  artificial  flower 
apiece;  to  Oliver  she  gave  a  shell  arid  Pollock’s  “Course  of  Time.”  We 
had  n’t  a  hired  man,  and  mother  and  Ollie  went  out  in  the  woods  and 
dragged  in  branches  of  trees  to  burn.  We  girls  thought  it  great  fun,  but 
father  called  it  his  “Blue  Christmas.”  Next  day  Oliver  went  to  town  and 
hired  a  good,  honest,  Yankee  fellow,  whose  name  wras  John  Lockwood. 
Then  we  had  Lewis  Zeader,  Thomas  Gorry  and  his  wife,  and  so  on  ;  never 
after  that  having  to  go  it  alone.  I  like  farm  life  ;  “  God  made  the  country 
and  man  made  the  town  ” — “  them’s  my  sentiments.” 

I  tried  my  hand  at  poetry.  Here  is  a  specimen  written  on 
an  occasion  that  afflicted  me — almost  to  tears.  A  noble  black 
oak  that  grew  near  one  of  the  dormer-windows  of  Forest  Home 
was  heard  straining  and  cracking  in  a  high  wind  one  night.  It 
was  found  to  be  so  much  injured  that  the  order  was  given  next 


The  Forest  Monarch . 


45 


day  to  cut  it  down.  This  was  a  sort  of  tragedy,  for  father  had 
taught  us  to  regard  the  trees  as  creatures  almost  human,  and  he 
guarded  those  about  the  house  and  in  the  pastures  as  if  they 
had  been  household  pets.  So  when  ‘  ‘  old  Blackie  ’ ’  was  cut  down, 
Mary  and  I  were  greatly  wrought  upon,  and  I  penciled  my 
thoughts  as  follows  : 


TO  AN  OLD  OAK. 

RECENTLY  FELLED  AT  FOREST  HOME. 

And  so,  old  Monarch  of  the  Forest,  thou  hast  fallen  ! 

Supinely  on  the  ground  thy  giant  limbs  are  laid  ; 

No  more  thou’lt  rear  aloft  thy  kingly  head, 

No  more  at  eventide  the  chirping  jay 

Shall  seek  a  shelter  ’mid  thy  boughs  or  ’mong  them  play. 

No  more  the  evening  breeze  shall  through  thy  branches  sigh, 

For  thou  art  dead.  Ah,  e’en  to  thee 
How  fearful  ’twas  to  die  ! 

Perhaps,  ages  ago, —  for  ’mong  the  centuries  thou  hast  grown  on,- 
Some  swarthy  warrior  of  a  race  long  past, 

Some  giant  chieftain  of  an  early  day, 

Beneath  thy  shade  has  rested  from  the  chase, 

And  to  thy  gnarled  trunk  told  some  wild  revenge, 

Or  gentle  tale  of  love. 

And  in  the  dusk  of  the  primeval  times, 

Some  fair  young  maid,  perchance,  to  thee  complained 
Of  vows  unkept,  or,  in  a  happier  mood, 

With  smile  as  innocent  as  e’er  maid  wore, 

Has  told  to  thee  some  simple  happiness, 

Scarce  worth  the  telling,  save  that  in  her  path 
Joys  were  the  flowers  that  by  the  weeds  of  care 
Were  overwhelmed. 

Around  thy  base  the  forest  children  played 
In  days  long  passed  away,  and  flowing  now 
In  the  dark  River  of  Eternity. 

The  years  but  lately  gone  were  waiting  then  to  be  ; 

Time  quickly  sped,  these  years  that  were  to  be 
Came,  hastened  by,  and  are  no  more  ;  with  them, 

Well  pleased  to  go,  my  childish  hours  fled  trait’rously, 

Bearing  to  Shadeland  holiest  memories. 

Telling  of  busy  feet  and  happy  heart, 

Delighted  eyes  and  all  the  unnumbered  joys 
Given  us  but  once — in  Childhood, 

Glorious  were  mine,  old  Tree  ! 


46 


Has  the  Tree  a  Spirit? 


Birds  have  sung  for  me,  flowers  bright  have  bloomed 
That  had  not,  had  I  ne'er  been  born  to  greet  their  beauty. 

Skies  wore  their  loveliest  hues  for  me 
Just  as  they  do  in  turn  for  all  that  live, 

And  as  they  will  for  happy  hearts  to  come. 

E’en  when  the  tiny  nut  that  held  thee  first, 

Dropt  quietly  into  the  rich,  dark  soil, 

’Twas  in  the  plan  of  the  great  God  of  all, 

That  thy  bright  leaves,  thy  green  crest  lifted  high, 

Thy  sturdy  trunk,  and  all  thy  noble  form, 

Should  be,  some  day  far  distant,  loved  by  me  ; 

Should  cause  my  eyeswdth  joy  to  rest  on  thee, 

And  so  increase  earth’s  gifts  of  God  to  me. 

Thou  hast  given  this  grace  to  many,  thou  hast  granted  it  to  me  ; 
But  none,  perhaps,  besides  me  shall  extol  thy  memory. 

Stern  Death,  remorseless  enemy,  spares  nothing  that  we  love  ; 
Upon  the  cold,  white  snow  to-night,  lie  boughs  that  waved  above. 
And  I’m  lonely,  sad  and  silent,  for  I  feel  a  friend  is  gone, 

As  ’mong  thy  great,  dead  boughs  to-night, 

I  hear  the  strange  wind  moan. 

Old  Tree,  hast  thou  a  spirit  ?  If  so,  we’ll  meet  again  ! 

I  shall  not  give  tliee  up  yet,  for  I’ll  meet  thee,  Yonder—  when  ? 
Perchance  thy  leaves,  etherealized,  above  me  yet  shall  wave 
When  to  bright  Paradise  I  come,  up  from  the  gloomy  grave ! 

So  in  this  wistful,  hopeful  tone, 

P'arewell,  old  King  of  Forest  Home. 


8HIP8  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  ARTISTS’  CRUB. 

In  1856  the  greatest  event  occurred  that  we  Forest  Homers 
had  chronicled  since  the  famous  “Founding  of  Fort  City.” 
Father’s  only  brother,  who  had  married  mother’s  sister,  came 
with  his  wife  and  our  aunts  Elizabeth  and  Caroline  to  ‘  ‘  spy  out 
the  land”  and  “see  how  Josiali  and  his  family  had  got  along.” 
It  was  an  unheard  of  thing  for  this  quartette  of  Vermont-New 
Yorkers  to  venture  so  far  from  home,  and  to  our  secret  aston¬ 
ishment  they  evinced  no  love  for  the  Great  West.  “Josiah  was 
the  only  one  that  strayed,”  they  said,  and  her  sisters  bemoaned 
mother’s  long  loneliness  even  more  than  she  did  herself,  whose 
isolation  was,  until  her  great  bereavement  came,  the  memorable 
misfortune  of  her  life.  But  of  all  this  her  children  knew  practi¬ 
cally  nothing,  so  sunny  was  her  spirit  and  so  merged  was  her 
life  in  theirs.  Our  ‘  ‘  nice  uncle  Zophar  ’  ’  was  a  revelation  to  us 
children.  He  was  tall,  like  father,  and  had  the  same  dignified 
ways,  but  was  more  caressing  toward  his  nieces  and  had  one  of 
the  kindest  faces,  and  yet  the  firmest  in  the  world.  He  was  a 
Whig  and  father  a  Democrat,  at  the  time  of  his  visit,  so  there 
was  no  end  of  argument  about  Webster  and  Clay,  and  the  prin¬ 
ciples  they  represented  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  “grand  old 
Jeffersonian  doctrines”  on  the  other.  He  was  a  Congregation- 
alist  and  father  a  Methodist,  so  there  was  no  end  of  talk  about 
their  differences  in  theology,  and  uncle  Zophar  liked  to  quote  the 
line,  “A  church  without  a  bishop  and  a  state  without  a  king.” 
But  the  old  stone  church,  where  both  of  them  had  once  belonged, 
the  old  stone  school-house  where  they  had  been  pupils,  the  old 
neighbors  who  had  come  with  them  from  Vermont,  on  runners 
across  the  snow,  about  1815,  these  were  subjects  of  which  we 
never  tired,  especially  when  the  sparkle  of  aunt  Caroline’s  fun 
and  the  bright  recollections  of  aunts  Abigail  and  Elizabeth  were 
added  to  the  conversation. 


(47) 


48 


Mother  Goes  East. 


These  things  seemed  more  engrossing  to  us  than  all  the 
wonders  of  the  New  West  to  them.  When,  in  a  few  weeks,  they 
returned  to  the  old  home  near  Rochester,  N.  Y.,  where  nearly  all 
our  relatives  of  the  last  and  present  generations  have  remained, 
they  insisted  on  taking  mother  with  them,  for  they  said,  “  Mary 
has  had  a  hard  time  of  it  here  on  the  farm,  a  steady  pull  of  ten 
years,  and  she  ought  to  have  rest  and  a  change.” 

After  this  lovely  visit  with  our  dear  relatives  it  was  very 
hard,  not  only  to  have  them  all  go  at  once,  but,  most  of  all,  to 
have  them  take  our  mother  with  them,  who  had  never,  that  we 
could  remember,  spent  a  night  away  from  us.  A  big  carriage 
was  hired  to  carry  them  to  Belvidere,  where  they  would  take  the 
cars  ;  good-bys  were  said,  with  many  falling  tears,  and  away  they 
went,  leaving  little  Mary  with  her  face  all  swollen  from  crying 
and  her  elder  sister  biting  her  lips  very  hard  for  fear  she  would 
follow  suit,  and  so  make  a  bad  matter  worse. 

“You  asked  dear,  beautiful  mamma  to  bring  you  a  box,” 
sobbed  Mary.  “You  thought  about  a  box  when  she  was  going 
away  off,”  and  she  cried  aloud. 

“  Well,  I  was  sorry  enough  to  have  her  go,”  was  my  philo¬ 
sophic  answer,  ‘  ‘  but  since  she  had  to  leave  us  I  thought  I  inighl 
as  well  have  a  little  something  when  she  came  back.”  All  the 
same,  Oliver  and  Maty  never  ceased  poking  fun  at  me  about  that 
box,  which  after  all  I  did  not  get  ! 

And  now  it  was  my  father’s  turn  to  play  consoler  to  his 
bereft  “young  hopefuls,”  as  he  often  called  us.  Well  did  he 
fulfill  his  new  task.  Instead  of  going  to  town  almost  every  day 
he  stayed  at  home  most  of  the  time,  for  he  and  mother  never 
believed  in  putting  their  children  in  care  of  what  he  called  “  out¬ 
side  parties.  ”  He  made  each  of  us  girls  a  tall,  cone-shaped, 
paper  cap,  which  Mary  trimmed  with  peacock  feathers  and  sym¬ 
bols  of  hunting,  according  to  father’s  directions.  He  fitted  us  out 
with  fresh  arrows,  taught  us  how  to  “  fly  a  dart,”  made  a  won¬ 
derful  kite  and  sent  it  up  over  the  fields,  imitated  perpetual 
motion  by  the  “saw-boy”  that  he  carved  with  his  “drawing 
knife,  ”  balanced  with  a  stone,  and  set  at  work  with  a  wooden 
saw.  He  went  with  us  to  watch  the  sheep,  and  to  carry  lunch 
to  the  men  at  work  in  the  fields,  took  us  out  to  ride  when  he 
had  to  go  on  “school  business,”  went  with  us  to  visit  the  Whit- 


VW/M.  • 


QtDM.E.CHO^CK 


EVANSTON 


C\WK~* 


■0)(6:KS^ 

CHliKCHVRtf  NX 


tyANSYoN 


We&K*.  ul 


Wm&.fr'S' 


W  •'-  ■/■ 


*T *»f  0LD  Crta*tCHr  0«6£NI  N^- 

.  3u»tT  IS32-- 


FIRST  M.  E.  CHURCH 


Sutherland' s  Book  Store . 


49 


mans  and  our  dear  teacher,  Miss  Burdick, — now  “married  and 
settled”  in  Janesville  as  Mrs.  Gabriel  L.  Knox — and  good  Mrs. 
Hannah  Hunter,  one  of  mother’s  best  friends  in  town.  He  left 
us  at  Sutherland’s  book  store  while  he  did  his  errands,  and  that 
was  our  delight,  for  the  very  presence  of  books  was  a  heart’s  ease, 
so  that  always,  next  to  our  own  home,  we  felt  at  home  where 
books  were  kept,  for  we  knew  the  wisest  and  kindest  men  and 
women  who  had  lived  were  there  in  thought.  Mr.  Sutherland 
was  a  dear  friend  of  father’s.  My  big  “  History  of  All  Nations  ” 
had  been  bought  from  him  in  monthly  parts,  mother  paying  for 
it  out  of  her  “butter  and  egg  money,”  that  I  might  have  it  on 
my  birthday.  Mr.  Sutherland  would  let  us  go  about  at  pleasure 
among  his  handsome  shelves  and  counters,  in  that  cool  and  quiet 
place — “  more  like  the  woods  than  any  other  that  we  know,”  and 
‘  ‘  so  different  from  those  horrid  stores  where  you  buy  dresses  and 
gloves,”  I  used  to  say. 

That  summer  we  had  a  new  girl,  Margaret  Ryan,  by  name,  for 
Bridget  wanted  rest.  She  was  but  eighteen  years  old,  and  great 
company  for  Mary  and  me.  She  was  true  and  kind,  very  intelli¬ 
gent,  and  we  became  much  attached  to  her  and  gave  her  piano 
lessons,  read  aloud  to  her  while  she  was  at  her  work,  and  never 
learned  anything  from  her  that  was  not  good.  So  our  memories 
of  ‘  ‘  Margie  ’  ’  were  always  pleasant.  Mother  was  so  considerate 
of  her  helpers  that  she  seldom  changed,  but  in  our  twelve  years 
on  the  farm  we  had  perhaps  thirty  or  more  men  and  women  with 
us,  at  different  times,  some  from  Ireland,  others  from  England, 
and  a  few  from  America,  while  of  Germans  and  Norwegians  there 
was  a  large  representation.  But  Catholic  or  Protestant,  Lutheran 
or  Methodist,  we  found  good  hearts  in  all,  and  made  common 
cause  with  every  one,  teaching  them  English,  giving  them  writ¬ 
ing  lessons,  and  never  receiving  anything  but  loyalty  and  kind¬ 
ness  in  return.  If  the  foreign  population  of  this  country  was 
fairly  represented  at  Forest  Home,  it  is  neither  drunken,  immoral 
nor  irreligious,  but  warmly  responds  to  every  helpful  word  and 
deed,  and  can  be  Americanized  if  Americans  will  but  be  true  to 
themselves  and  these  new  friends. 

In  the  loneliness  of  mother’s  absence,  I  began  to  write  more 
than  ever,  though  I  had  kept  a  journal  since  I  was  twelve  years 
old.  Climbing  to  my  high  perch  in  the  old  oak  tree,  I  would 


50  “  Rupert  Melville  and  His  Comrades .” 

write  down  the  day’s  proceedings,  scribble  sketches  and  verses, 
and  I  even  began  a  novel  entitled,  “Rupert  Melville  and  his 
Comrades:  A  Story  of  Adventure.”  Mary,  too,  kept  a  journal 
and  competed  for  a  prize  in  the  “Children’s  Column”  of  The 
Prairie  Farmer.  I  tried  for  the  premium  offered  for  the  best 
poem  at  the  County  Fair,  but  it  was  won  by  Mrs.  E.  S.  Kellogg, 
the  Janesville  poet.  This  did  not,  however,  discourage  me  at 
all ;  I  wrote  the  harder,  took  my  essays  to  Mrs.  Hodge,  who  had 
fine  taste  and  was  an  uncommonly  good  writer  herself,  and  made 
up  my  mind  that  “  write  I  could  and  should  and  would.  ” 

My  novel  was  a  standing  joke  in  the  family.  I  worked  at  it 
‘  ‘  off  and  on,  ’  ’  but  chiefly  the  former.  I  had  so  many  characters 
that  Oliver  said  “  for  the  life  of  him  he  didn’t  see  how  I  expected 
to  get  them  all  decently  killed  off  inside  of  a  thousand  pages.  ’  ’ 
Every  day  when  my  regular  chores  about  the  house  were  done, 
which  took  only  an  hour  or  two,  I  got  at  work  and  insisted  on 
doing  at  least  one  page,  from  which  it  is  plain  that  I  had  no 
great  inspiration  in  my  undertaking.  Perhaps  nobody  appre¬ 
ciated  it  more  than  Lizzie  Hawley,  a  bright  young  dressmaker 
from  Janesville,  to  whom  I  was  wont  to  read  each  chapter  aloud, 
as  fast  as  it  was  written.  Sometimes,  since,  I  have  wondered  if 
the  main  reason  why  Lizzie  listened  so  dutifully  was  not  that  she 
had  no  choice  in  the  matter ;  there  was  the  reader,  and  there  was 
the  Story,  and  the  busy  needlewoman  could  not  get  away. 

Perhaps  father’s  fitting  us  out  with  hunting  implements 
during  mother’s  absence  had  something  to  do  with  the  writing  of 
this  story.  It  is  more  likely,  however,  that  the  irrepressible 
spirit  of  his  two  daughters,  drove  him  to  allowing  them  to  hunt, 
for  we  seemed  to  have  developed  a  passion  in  that  direction 
stronger  than  ever,  about  those  days.  Especially  was  this  true 
of  me.  I  had  got  hold  of  a  story  book,  “The  Prairie  Bird,  ” 
another  called  “Wild  Western  Scenes,”  and  a  third,  “The 
Green-Mountain  Boys,”  and  secretly  devoured  all  three  without 
leave  or  license.  They  had  produced  on  my  imagination  the 
same  effect  that  they  would  upon  a  boy’s.  Above  all  things  in 
earth  or  sky  I  wanted  to  be,  and  meant  to  be,  a  mighty  hunter. 
The  country  I  loved,  the  town  I  hated  and  would  none  of  it. 

Fort  City  ’  and  all  its  belongings  were  no  longer  to  be  thought 
of  as  an  adequate  “sphere.” 


The  A r fists'  Club. 


5* 


Mary  shared  this  enthusiasm  in  her  own  more  quiet  way. 
She  had  read  with  me,  “Robinson  Crusoe”  and  the  “Swiss 
Family  Robinson,”  to  neither  of  which  father  objected,  because 
they  were  not  ‘  ‘  miserable  love  stories,  ’  ’  as  he  said — for  at  these 
he  drew  the  line  firmly  and  would  not  allow  them  in  the  house. 
But  something  artistic  must  be  connected  with  all  of  Mary’s 
plays,  and  I  was  strongly  inclined  that  way,  too,  so  we  started 
two  clubs,  one  called  “The  Artists,”  and  the  other,  “The  Rus¬ 
tic,”  for  the  purpose  of  combining  our  hunting  and  sketching 
ideas.  From  some  carefully  preserved  documents  the  rules  of 
these  two  are  given  : 

I  EAWS  OF  THE  ARTISTS’  CEUB. 

1.  The  officers  shall  be  a  president  and  secretary. 

(2.  The  meetings  shall  be  held  twice  a  week  (unless  unforeseen  occur¬ 
rences  prevent),  and  shall  be  on  Tuesday  and  Saturday  afternoons  or  even¬ 
ings,  as  the  secretary  shall  direct. 

3.  The  object  of  the  meeting  shall  be  the  mutual  improvement  of  the 
artists  w'ho  attend.  The  occupations  of  the  Club  at  these  meetings  shall  be 
reading  articles  on  art,  reading  compositions  and  making  speeches  upon  the 
same  subject  (never  on  anything  else),  drawing,  painting,  modeling  in  clay, 
conversing,  singing,  and  encouraging  each  other.  The  Club  must  always 
open  with  a  song. 

4.  There  shall  be  an  exhibition  held  on  the  last  day  of  each  month,  at 
which  prizes  shall  be  awarded  to  those  artists  whose  wyorks  are  the  best.  The 
person  to  decide  upon  this  shall  be  Mrs.  Willard,  and  Mr.  Willard  when 
she  is  away,  and  the  meetings  shall  always  be  held  up-stairs  in  the  studio. 

5.  There  shall  be  twenty  honorary  members.  (Here  follows  a  list  of 
every  uncle,  aunt  and  cousin  that  we  two  girls  were  blessed  with,  and  Miss 
Burdick  from  outside  the  family.) 

6.  There  shall  always  be  something  good  to  eat  and  the  president  shall 
look  after  this  matter,  in  return  for  which  she  shall  have  the  seat  of  honor, 
and  make  the  first  speech,  etc.  She  shall  also  get  things  ready  when  the 
Club  goes  on  an  excursion  ;  shall  see  that  the  dog  is  haltered,  and  take  a 
little  food  along  for  him  as  well  as  for  the  rest ;  shall  get  the  gun  ready  and 
the  box  in  which  things  are  carried. 

7.  Because  it  is  hard  work,  the  members  shall  take  turns  once  a  week 
at  being  president. 

8.  If  any  member  makes  or  repairs  any  article  belonging  to  the  Club, 
he  shall  be  paid  one  half  the  value  of  the  same  by  the  other  member. 

9.  If  one  member  goes  off  alone,  he  shall  prepare  his  own  outfit,  and 
let  Margaret  Ryan  know  of  it  so  that  folks  need  n’t  be  scared. 

We,  the  members  of  this  Club,  pledge  ourselves  to  keep  faithfully  all 
these,  our  own  laws.  Frank  Wieeard. 

Mary  R.  Wieeard. 


52 


A  Hunter's  Costume. 


We  fixed,  up  a  studio  behind  the  dormer-windows,  by  taking 
old  quilts  and  making  a  partition.  We  improvised  an  easel, 
though  I  had  never  seen  one,  and  was  forced  to  pattern  it  after 
pictures  in  books.  We  had  benches,  wooden  mallets  and  chisels 
for  working  in  clay.  We  pinned  up  all  the  engravings  we  could 
get  on  the  quilt  partition,  and  added  our  own  rude  drawings  in 
pencil,  pen  and  ink  and  water-colors.  We  copied  drawings  that 
father  and  mother  had  done  in  Oberlin,  hung  up  our  home-made 
flags,  and  arranged  all  the  queer  collection  of  ‘  ‘  pretty  stones,  ’  ’ 
Indian  arrow-heads,  curious  insects,  etc.,  which  we  had  inher¬ 
ited  from  Oliver,  and  gathered  for  ourselves.  So  we  had  quite  a 
studio. 

The  very  first  thing  we  set  about  in  the  Art  Club  was  design¬ 
ing  a  “  Hunter’s  Costume.”  No  doubt  I  had  “  Rupert  Melville,” 
the  hero  of  my  story,  in  mind,  for  I  often  declared  that  “if  I 
could  n’t  go  West  and  be  a  real  hunter,  somebody  should,  and 
I’d  see  that  he  did.” 

We  agreed  that  it  must  be  “none  of  your  soft,  city  clothes,” 
but  “must  stand  wear  and  tear,  not  take  forever  to  put  on,  and 
be  snake-proof.  ”  So  I  designed  coat,  trousers,  hat  and  mittens  of 
calfskin,  and  boots  of  cowhide.  The  original  drawings  of  these, 
nowin  my  possession,  are  in  high  colors,  with  emphatic  directions 
for  the  manufacture. 

It  was  natural  that  two  amateur  hunters  who  could  design 
such  a  “  coat  of  mail  ”  should  have  their  own  opinions  about 
rural  sports,  and  the  following  copy  of  their  plans  casts  some  light 
upon  that  subject : 

RULES  AND  REGULATIONS 

OF  THE 

RUSTIC  CLUB. 

ORGANIZED  THE  THIRTY-FIRST  DAY  OF  JULY,  1854. 

God  made  the  country, 

Man  made  the  town, 

The  country  is  our  choice. 

1.  The  object  of  this  Club  is  to  give  its  members  the  enjoyment  of 
hunting ,  fishing ,  and  trapping ,  with  other  rural  pleasures,  at  once  exciting 
and  noble. 

2.  We,  the  members  of  this  Club,  hereby  choose  Fred  as  our  dog, 
although  once  in  a  while  we  may  take  Carlo  ;  he  can  go  when  he  has  sense 
enough. 


Sheep  Bell  and  Dipper  Handle. 


53 


3.  The  meetings  shall  be  held  (after  a  few  days)  every  Wednesday  and 
Saturday,  at  such  times  as  shall  be  deemed  convenient  and  proper.  The 
first  one  shall  be  held  in  F.’s  half  of  the  studio,  and  the  next  in  M.’s  half, 
and  so  on. 

4.  The  object  of  these  meetings  is  to  relate  any  anecdote  that  pertains 
to  hunting,  in  any  of  its  branches  ;  tell  what  great  things  we  have  done  our¬ 
selves,  or  that  Oliver  or  Loren  or  the  Hodge  boys  have,  or  Daniel  Boone  or 
anybody  else. 

5.  For  hunting  purposes,  the  names  of  the  founders  of  this  Club  shall 
be  Bowman  and  Bonny,  and,  as  we  may  get  a  good  ways  apart  when  we  are 
out  hunting,  one  of  us  will  carry  an  old  dipper  handle  to  serve  as  a  hunter’s 
bugle,  and  the  other  a  sheep  bell  for  the  same  purpose,  and  we  will  have  the 
following  arrangement  of 


SIGNALS. 

When  Bowman  gives — 

Two  blasts,  that  means,  “  Bonny,  where  are  you?  ” 
Three  blasts,  “Come  here,  quick." 

Four  blasts,  “  Meet  me  at  Robin  Hood’s  tree.” 

Five  blasts,  “  Meet  me  on  the  river  bank.” 

Six  blasts,  “  Let’s  go  to  the  house.” 

Eight  blasts,  “Yes.” 

Ten  blasts,  “No.” 

Twelve  blasts,  “  Oh ,  do  /’  * 


When  Bonny  gives — 

One  shake,  “  Bowman,  where  are  you?” 

Two  shakes,  “  Come  here,  quick .” 

Three  shakes,  “  Meet  me  at  the  tree.” 

Four  shakes,  “  Meet  me  on  the  river  bank.” 

Five  shakes,  “Yes.” 

Six  shakes,  “  Let’s  go  home.” 

Ten  shakes,  “No.” 

Twelve  shakes,  ‘  ‘  Oh ,  do  !  ” 

N.  B. — Any  signal  repeated  over  and  over  means  that  you  request  com¬ 


pliance  very  earnestly. 


[Signed] 


Bowman  and  Bonny. 


No  doubt  many  of  our  ideas  were  gained  from  Charles  Gif¬ 
ford,  of  Milwaukee,  a  nursery  man  by  profession,  and  an  amateur 
artist  of  rare  abilities,  who  was  father’s  friend  and  used  to  come 
in  summer  to  shoot  prairie-chickens.  He  had  been  educated  at 
Brown  University  and  Oberlin,  and  had  traveled  in  Europe.  His 
brother  was  S.  R.  Gifford,  the  famous  landscape  artist,  whose 
pictures  of  Egyptian  scenery  are  so  generally  known.  Charles 
Gifford  might  have  been  as  famous  under  equally  good  condi¬ 
tions.  He  was  a  remarkable  man,  and  we  looked  upon  him  as  a 


54 


Singing  for  Father. 


sort  of  prince,  and  when  he  sent  by  express  a  great  book  of  en¬ 
gravings,  with  some  of  his  own  sketches  and  of  his  brother’s,  we 
thought  it  the  red-letter  day  of  all,  in  its  beautiful  happenings. 
(Happen  comes  from  “haps”  and  so  does  “happiness.”)  He 
sent  us  Longfellow’s  “  Evangeline  ” — the  first  long  poem  we  ever 
read — and  it  was  delighted  in  by  all  the  club,  and  so  impressed 
me  that  years  after,  with  my  first  “school  money”  I  bought  a 
picture  of  Evangeline  by  Faed,  and  to  this  day  keep  it  hanging 
on  the  walls  of  my  room.  We  made  a  scrap-book  of  our  draw¬ 
ings  and  such  pictures  as  we  could  get,  in  feeble  imitation  of  Mr. 
Gifford’s  elegant  one. 

Miss  Helen  Clough,  of  Janesville,  was  also  an  artist,  and 
with  her  and  her  sister  we  held  sweet  counsel  as  to  how  shading 
was  done  and  what  could  be  accomplished  m  India  ink,  at  which 
work  Miss  Clough  was  an  adept. 

Nothing  pleased  father  so  much  as  to  have  his  two  daughters 
sing  for  him  when  the  day’s  work  was  done.  He  took  great 
pride  in  our  musical  education,  and  spent  much  money  upon  it. 
His  idea  was  that  girls  and  women  were  to  find  their  sphere  in 
the  home,  and  not  elsewhere,  and  that  tli£  more  accomplished 
they  could  be,  the  better.  I  did  not  take  kindly  to  this,  but 
lovely  Marj^  did,  and  was  her  father’s  favorite  beyond  all  compe¬ 
tition,  though  he  was  very  fond  of  all  his  children.  Mary  had  a 
sweet,  pure,  soprano  voice,  and  I  a  good,  clear  alto,  hence  we  sang 
well  together,  and  Mary  was  excellent  at  keeping  the  time,  so 
she  came  to  be  the  one  who  played  the  accompaniments.  We 
would  sing  thirty  songs  in  an  evening,  and  often  father  furnished 
the  bass,  for  he  “read  notes”  and  was  a  good  singer.  Mother 
was,  too,  and  would  help  Mary  on  the  “air”  when  not  too  busy 
with  household  duties.  One  of  the  most  pathetic  songs  was 
“  The  Withered  Tree  ”  :  I  j 

“  I’ll  sing  you  a  song,  but  not  of  love, 

For  love’s  bright  day  is  past  with  me, 

But  one  that  shall  more  truthful  prove, 

I’ll  sing  you  the  song  of  the  withered  tree.” 

Folks  used  to  laugh  as  the  fresh,  young  voices  sang  these 
plaintive  words,  but  I  invariably  answered,  “It  will  come  true 
with  me  ;  I’m  sure  of  it.” 

For  one  thing  I  was  always  sorry — my  voice  was  spoiled  for 


“  O  Fly  to  the  Prairie!” 


55 


singing  soprano,  by  beginning  too  early.  My  father’s  mother 
had  the  finest  voice  in  the  county,  and  it  seemed  as  if  her  grand¬ 
daughter  inherited  a  little  of  its  power.  I  could  go  up  very  high 
on  the  octave  and  father  delighted  to  hear  me.  One  evening  I 
was  singing  “Mary,  mavourneen,’’  when,  at  the  highest  note, 
my  voice  broke  utterly  and  I . almost  cried  outright.  From  that 
day  I  never  could  sing  “air”  with  comfort  or  success,  and  I  am 
fully  convinced  that  parents  ought  not  to  urge  the  voices  of  their 
children,  as  it  is  almost  sure  to  spoil  them  for  singing  at  all. 

Nothing  pleased  me  in  those  days  like  Mrs.  Hemans’  song  : 

“  I  dream  of  all  things  free  ; 

Of  a  gallant,  gallant  bark, 

That  sweeps  through  storm  and  sea 
Like  an  arrow  to  its  mark  ; 

Of  a  chief  his  warriors  leading, 

Of  an  archer’s  greenwood  tree  ; 

My  heart  in  chains  is  bleeding, 

But  I  dream  of  all  things  free.” 

And  this  prairie  song  : 

O  fly  to  the  prairie,  sweet  maiden,  with  me, 

’Tis  as  green  and  as  wide  and  as  wild  as  the  sea. 

O’er  its  broad,  silken  bosom  the  summer  winds  glide, 

And  waves  the  wild  grass  in  its  billowy  pride. 

The  fawns  in  the  meadow  fields  fearlessly  play  ; 

Away  to  the  chase,  lovely  maiden,  away  ! 

There  comes  incense  pleasant  on  gales  from  the  west, 

As  bees  from  the  prairie-rose  fly  to  their  rest. 

Hurrah  for  the  prairie  !  no  blight  on  its  breeze, 

No  mist  from  the  mountains,  no  shadows  from  trees ; 

It  brings  incense  loaded  on  gales  from  the  west, 

When  bees  from  the  prairie-rose  fly  to  their  rest. 

As  Mary  grew  older  she  developed  wonderful  sensitiveness 
of  conscience,  and  although  so  much  better  than  her  sister,  she 
used  to  come  to  me  with  every  little  act,  and  say,  “Frank,  do 
you  think  that  is  right?  ’’  and  if  I  said,  “  O  yes,  that’s  all  right, 
I’m  sure,’’  she  would  go  away  satisfied.  But  she  would  take  me 
to  task  very  plainly  when  I  did  wrong.  One  of  the  customs  that 
grew  out  of  this  was  started  by  my  saying  one  night,  as  we  two 
were  snugly  tucked  away  in  bed  in  our  own  pretty  little  room, 
“  Mary,  would  n’t  it  be  a  good  plan  for  us  to  ask  each  other’s 


5^ 


u  Forgive  Me,  a?id  Thank  You .  ’  ’ 


forgiveness  the  very  last  thing  before  we  go  to  sleep,  for  any  word 
or  deed  that  was  n’t  just  sisterly  and  kind,  and  to  thank  each 
other  for  everything  that  was  kind  and  sisterly  ?  ” 

“  Oh,  yes,  that’s  what  I  should  be  so  glad  of,  not  only  to  do* 
this  to  you,  Frank,  but  to  everybody,  if  I  could,”  the  gentle  girl 
exclaimed  with  joy.  So  it  was  agreed  upon,  and  became  a  cus¬ 
tom  between  us  two,  who  were  as  one  heart  and  soul  in  our  mutual 
love  and  confidence,  only  we  used,  after  awhile,  instead  of  saying 
it  all,  to  say,  “for  short,”  “I  ask  your  forgiveness,  and  thank 
you,”  to  which  the  answer  was,  “  I  freely  forgive  you,  and  wel¬ 
come.”  And  this  we  did  until,  after  “  nineteen  beautiful  years,” 
the  last  night  on  earth  came  to  her,  and  I  ‘  ‘  asked  her  forgiveness 
and  thanked  her”  as  of  old,  just  before  her  sweet  young  spirit 
passed  away  to  heaven. 

Never  was  mortal  welcomed  home  more  lovingly  than  dear 
mother,  when  she  came  back  to  us  after  that  summer’s  absence. 
To  be  sure,  “father  had  made  it  splendid  for  us,”  so  we  told 
her,  but  then,  the  house  had  but  one  divinity,  and  as  we  knelt 
in  prayer,  that  deep,  motherly  heart  carried  to  the  Heart  that 
“  mothers  ”  all  the  world,  its  love,  its  trust  and  adoration.  She 
did  not  bombard  heaven  with  requests,  as  many  do,  but  “she 
took  a  deal  for  granted,”  as  Loren  used  to  say. 

“Thou  hast  done  us  only  good,”  so  she  prayed  who  had 
been  bereft  of  the  tenderest  of  mothers,  and  had  lost  out  of  her 
arms  her  loveliest  child;  “Thou  dost  brood  over  us,  as  the 
mother  bird  broods  over  her  helpless  little  ones,”  so  she  prayed, 
who  had  known  much  about  ‘  ‘  the  slings  and  arrows  of  out¬ 
rageous  fortune  ” ;  “  we  are  often  tired  of  ourselves,  but  Thy 
heart  is  never  weary  of  us  ;  Thou  hast  made  the  world  so  lovely 
that  we  might  love  it,  and  Thou  art  preparing  heaven  for  us 
every  day,  even  as  we,  by  Thy  blessed  help,  O  Christ,  are  try¬ 
ing  to  learn  its  language  and  its  manners  so  that  we  shall  feel 
at  home  when  we  reach  heaven.” 

Mother’s  prayers  and  singing  always  made  her  children 
glad.  In  the  wild  thunder-storms  of  that  new  West,  I  was 
wont  to  hide  my  face  upon  her  knee  and  say,  “  Sing  ‘  Rock  of 
Ages.’  ”  Somehow  I  was  never  afraid  while  mother’s  soul  was 
lifted  up  to  God. 

She  questioned  us  about  our  manners,  which,  as  she  soon 


A  Habit  of  Mindfulness. 


57 


perceived,  had  fallen  away  to  some  extent.  She  made  us  walk 
with  books  upon  our  heads  so  as  to  learn  to  carry  ourselves  well, 
and  she  went  with  us  through  the  correct  manner  of  giving  and 
receiving  introductions,  though,  to  be  sure,  “  there  was  nobody 
to  be  introduced,”  as  Oliver  said.  “  But  there  will  be,”  replied 
mother,  with  her  cheerful  smile. 

We  had  a  habit  of  mindfulness  that  was  inherited  from  our 
pioneer  ancestors.  It  is  said  that  people  who  have  moved  away 
from  their  early  homes  love  them  better  than  those  who  stay, 
because  of  the  “  home-ache,”  as  the  Germans  call  it,  that  comes  to 
them  so  often.  In  Oregon,  where  for  so  long  a  time  the  pioneers 
were  cut  off  from  close  association  with  the  outside  world,  they 
have  the  reputation  of  being  a  very  gentle  sort  of  folk,  extremely 
considerate  as  neighbors,  and  specially  kind  to  animals.  In  the 
summer  of  1883,  when  the  Northern  Pacific  railroad  reached  them, 
one  often  heard  such  remarks  as,  “  I’ll  go  back  to  the  old  place  in 
Massachusetts  on  the  first  through  train  east,”  or,  “I’m  just 
pining  for  a  sight  of  the  old  school-house  in  Vermont.  I’ll 
make  tracks  for  the  cars,  soon  as  ever  they  heave  in  sight,  and 
will  go  to  see  my  folks.” 

Well,  as  Wisconsin  pioneers,  we  were  very  fond  of  old-time 
talk  of  places  and  of  people,  and  were  never  more  interested  than 
when  father  and  mother  around  the  evening  lamp  would  dis¬ 
course  of  incidents  in  the  past,  somewhat  after  this  fashion  : 

Mother:  “  I  don’t  want  our  children  ever  to  forget  the  story 
that  they’ve  heard  so  often  about  the  patriotism  of  my  grand¬ 
father,  Nathaniel  Thompson,  of  Holderness,  New  Hampshire.” 

“  Hurrah  for  Grandfather  Nathaniel — in  whom  there  was  no 
guile  !  ”  responded  Oliver,  looking  up  from  Goldsmith’s  “History 
of  England,”  while  I  said,  “  I’ll  make  a  note  of  that,”  and  Mary 
began  to  draw  her  brave  ancestor  in  Continental  costume  in  the 
sketch-book  before  her. 

‘  ‘  And  /  want  my  children  always  to  remember,  ’  ’  said  father, 
“that  their  great-grandfather,  Elijah  Willard,  was  a  Baptist 
minister  forty  years  in  the  parish  of  Dublin,  near  Keene,  New 
Hampshire  ;  and  that  their  ancestors  helped  to  settle  Concord, 
Mass.,  where  Emerson,  Hawthorne  and  other  literati  live.  Some 
day  I  hope  they’ll  go  to  visit  Major  Solomon  Willard’s  old  farm 
there.” 


58 


“  Afraid  of  Snakes  and  Lightning 


“  I  don’t  believe  I’m  a  worthy  descendant  of  my  great-grand¬ 
father,  for  I’m  afraid  of  snakes  and  lightning,  and  most  of  all,  of 
the  dark,”  said  I  in  a  bewailing  tone. 

“  Oh,  that’s  all  foolishness  !  you’ll  outgrow  it,  my  daughter  ; 
it’s  only  a  case  of  nerves,”  said  father,  consolingly.  ‘‘You  were 
such  another  screamer  when  a  baby  that  I  used  to  say  to  myself, 
as  I  walked  back  and  forth  with  you  in  the  night  season,  ‘  This 
young  one  is  in  duty  bound  to  amount  to  something  sometime, 
to  pay  for  all  the  trouble  that  she  makes.  ’  ” 

“  Yes,  and  for  the  blood  she  pricked  from  her  forefinger  when 
Elizabeth  Hield  and  mother  tried  to  teach  her  to  sew,”  remarked 
my  brother,  adding,  “  But  she  did  make  a  ‘  sampler,’  though,  in 
silk,  and  I  shall  never  be  contented  till  it’s  framed  and  hung  up 
as  the  eighth  wonder  of  the  world.” 

“  Well,  she  did  it,  my  son,  and  you  know  my  motto  is,  ‘  Do 
it  and  be  done  with  it,  ’  ”  said  mother,  always  ready  to  defend  the 
weaker  side. 

“  I  wish  Mrs.  Marks  and  Julia  would  ever  come  to  see  us,” 
said  I,  changing  the  subject  ;  ‘‘she  is  such  a  good  woman,  and 
‘  David  Marks,  the  boy  preacher,’  was  father’s  nearest  friend  when 
we  lived  in  Oberlin.” 

‘‘Yes,  I  have  greatly  missed  Mrs.  Marks,”  replied  mother, 
cpiietly,  bending  over  her  “  sewing- work,”  for  she  never  com¬ 
plained  of  the  loneliness  from  which  she  had  so  keenly  suffered, 
except  to  stir  the  aspirations  of  her  children.  For  this  purpose 
she  would  sometimes  say  : 

‘‘Iliad  many  ambitions,  but  I’ve  buried  myself  on  this 
farm — disappearing  from  the  world  to  reappear,  I  trust,  in  my 
children  at  some  future  day.  ’  ’ 

“  So  you  shall,  mother  ;  see  if  you  don’t !  ”  we  used  to  shout 
in  glee. 

“  But  that  means  hard  work — investing  your  time,  instead 
of  spending  it ;  earnest  ways,  and  living  up  to  the  old  Scotch 
proverb,  ‘  It’s  dogged  as  does  it,’  ”  mother  would  reply. 

‘‘Why  is  anybody  afraid  of  the  dark?”  I  asked,  in  one  of 
these  gatherings  around  the  evening  lamp. 

“  Because  he  does  n’t  know  and  trust  God  enough,”  was  the 
reply.  “  If  you  can  just  once  get  it  into  your  heart  as  well  as 
your  head  that  the  world  lies  in  God’s  arms  like  a  baby  on  its 


Johnnie  Hodge's  Socks. 


59 


mother’s  breast,  you’ll  never  mind  the  dark  again  ;  I  don’t ;  I’m 
not  afraid  to  go  all  over  the  house  and  into  the  cellar  when  it  is 
dark  as  a  pocket.  I  know  I  am  infinitely  safe  always  and  every¬ 
where.” 

“But,  mother,  I  have  lots  of  imagination,  and  I  picture  out 
things  in  the  dark.” 

‘  ‘  Why  not  turn  your  power  of  picture-making  to  a  better  use 
and  always  keep  in  mind  that  you  are  really  never  in  the  dark  at 
all — the  bright,  cheery,  twinkling  stars  are  glistening  with  their 
kind  light  upon  your  path  every  minute  of  the  day  and  night. 
What  if  a  few  clouds  get  between — the  stars  are  there  all  the 
same — fix  your  eyes  on  them  and  go  ahead.  ’  ’ 

“  I  remember,”  said  Mary, once  on  a  time,  “  that  Frank  used 
to  go  without  butter,  and  father  gave  her  a  cent  a  week  for  it, 
wdiich  I  guess  is  the  reason  she  liked  it  so  well  when  she  grew 
older.  And  I  can  say  the  pretty  verses  that  Mrs.  Hodge  sent 
back  when  Frank  carried  the  little  pair  of  socks  that  mother  had 
knit  for  John,  one  Christmas  morning.’’  Then  she  repeated  these 
lines  : 

“  I  thank  you,  little  Frankie, 

You’re  very  kind  to  me, 

And  by  and  by  I  promise 
Your  little  friend  to  be. 

“  Your  nice  and  pretty  present 
Keeps  my  little  toes  so  warm, 

And  makes  me  good  and  pleasant 
In  all  the  winter  storm. 

“  I’m  such  a  little  boy,  you  know, 

And  oh,  how  I  would  cry 
If  I  should  freeze  my  tiny  toes, 

But  I  sha’n’t  now — good-by.” 

“All  the  same,  Frank  never  set  a  stitch  in  those  socks,” 
remarked  my  brother. 

“That’s  a  fact,  but  I  gave  them  to  her  to  give  to  Johnnie, 
and  I  had  aright  to,  had  n’t  I  ?  ”  replied  mother. 

“  Do  you  remember  Ozias,  the  clerk  in  an  Elyria  store,  who 
used  to  be  so  kind  to  us  and  give  us  pretty  ribbons  ?  ”  chipped  in 
Mary;  “he  was  as  generous  as  nice  Mr.  Hamilton  Richardson, 
in  Janesville,  who  gave  us  the  books  of  stories  about  Greece  and 
Rome,  and  Mr.  Elihu  Washburn  who  brought  us  the  pretty 


60  President  Finney  “  Thunders  and  Lightens .” 

poetry  books.  Don’t  you  remember  our  little  book-case  that  Frank 
made  out  of  an  old  box  set  on  end,  papered  on  the  outside,  and 
with  shelves  put  across,  where  we  kept  our  books,  in  the  little 
cubby- place  under  the  stairs,  that  we  called  our  ‘corner  room,’ 
and  how  it  was  as  dark  as  night  except  when  we  had  a  lighted 
candle  in  it,  and  how  Oliver  bought  us  a  pretty  set  of  little  wooden 
dishes  that  we  used  to  set  out  on  a  stool,  with  a  white  handker¬ 
chief  for  table-cover  ;  and  then  the  handsome  pewter  dishes  father 
gave  us  at  Christmas,  and  how  Frank  made  an  X  on  her  plates 
and  cups,  to  tell  them  from  mine  ?  and  the  city  that  father  got 
for  us  another  time  that  was  cut  out  of  little  blocks,  and  the  big 
doll,  Anna,  and” — 

“  Do  stop  and  take  breath  or  you’ll  be  struck  of  aheap,” 
exclaimed  Oliver,  putting  his  fingers  into  his  ears. 

“Well,  let’s  see  if  you  can  do  any  better  at  remembering 
than  your  sister,”  said  his  mother  ;  “just  put  on  your  thinking- 
cap  and  try.” 

“  Well,  I  can  go  back  along  the  circle  of  years,”  said  Oliver, 
“to  that  distant  period  when  Prof.  James  Dascomb  and  Prof. 
George  Whipple,  of  Oberlin  College,  came  to  see  us  in  our 
pioneer  house  of  one  room,  and  clambered  up  to  the  garret  on  a 
ladder,  telling  next  morning  they  never  had  such  solid  chunks 
of  ‘  tired  nature’s  sweet  restorer,  balmy  sleep,’  in  all  their  lives 
before.  I  can  remember  President  Finney’s  preaching  in  the 
Oberlin  church,  and  how  he  moved  about  like  a  caged  lion. on 
that  great  platform,  his  light  blue  eyes  blazing  under  those 
shaggy,  white  eyebrows,  and  how  scared  I  was  of  my  bad  be¬ 
havior  when  he  preached.” 

“You  don’t  mean  that  you  behaved  badly  when  he  preached?” 
smartly  put  in  his  sister  Frank. 

“  No  interruptions,  let  Oliver  spin  on.  I  loved  those  days 
and  I  like  him  to  recall  them,”  said  mother. 

“And  I  remember  how  Frank,  when  four  years  old,  took 
to  her  heels  and  ran  away  across  lots,  creeping  through  the  fence, 
and  frightening  mother  almost  to  death,  and  father,  too,  so  that 
he  went  and  looked  into  the  well  and  cistern  to  see  if  she  had 
tumbled  in,  while  I  raced  around  like  a  crazy  Jack,  and  dis¬ 
covered  the  little  minx  running  as  if  on  a  wager,  breathing  like  a 
steamboat,  and  bound  to  keep  on,  so  that  I  had  to  chase  her  up 


Uncle  Zophar' s  Apples.  61 

for  dear  life,  and  fairly  carry  lier  home  in  my  arms  to  her  heart¬ 
broken  ma.” 

“  Enough  said  under  that  head,”  I  remarked,  not  looking  up 
from  my  book,  for  this  exploit  was  one  I  did  n’t  glory  in. 

“That  will  do,  for  ‘I  remember,’”  said  mother,  clipping 
the  thread  at  the  end  of  the  seam  in  her  sewing- work.  ‘  ‘  Sup¬ 
pose  you  go  down,  Loren”  (for  all  the  evening  the  boy  had  been 
a  docile  listener,  while  he  carved  a  new  cross-gun  for  little  Mary), 
“  and  get  us  some  of  the  apples  that  the  children’s  Uncle  Zophar 
sent  from  the  old  place.” 


SAMPLER. 


CHAPTER  III. 


LITTLE  BOATS  SET  OUT  FROM  SHORE. 

The  first  great  break  in  our  lives  was  when  Oliver  went  to 
Beloit,  fourteen  miles  down  the  river,  to  finish  his  preparatory 
studies  and  enter  college.  He  had  rarely  spent  an  evening  away 
from  home  in  all  his  life  until  he  was  eighteen.  Busy  with  books 
and  papers  •“  around  the  evening  lamp,”  sometimes  “running  a 
(writing)  race  ’  ’  with  me,  going  into  the  dining-room  to  teach 
Mike  and  other  “farm  hands”  to  read  and  write,  cipher  and 
spell,  busy  with  his  chores  and  sports  and  farm  work,  Oliver, 
with  his  perpetual  good-humor,  was  a  tremendous  institution  to 
have  about,  and  the  shadow  was  heavy  when  he  first  started  out 
from  dear  old  Forest  Home  into  the  world.  He  was  to  board  at 
the  home  of  Dr.  Lathrop,  who  was  Professor  of  Natural  Science 
at  Beloit,  and  whose  wife  was  Rev.  Dr.  Clement’s  daughter  and 
mother’s  cousin. 

With  his  easy-going,  happy  nature  and  his  dear  love  for  the 
old  place,  my  brother  would  have  lived  on  contentedly  all  his 
days,  I  think,  a  well-to-do,  industrious,  and  yet  book-loving 
farmer.  But  mother  gave  her  only  son  no  rest.  He  was  to  go 
to  college,  carve  out  a  future  for  himself,  be  a  minister,  perhaps, 
that  was  her  dearest  wish  and  father’s  for  the  most  gifted  of  their 
children. 

From  the  first,  we  had  gone  regularly  to  Beloit  to  “  Com¬ 
mencement,”  that  great  day  when  the  people  gathered  in  the 
grove,  and  President  Chapin,  so  stately  and  so  handsome,  sat  in 
the  midst  on  the  gayly  festooned  platform,  with  noble  looking 
Professor  Emerson  and  the  other  “  college  dons”  beside  him. 
We  had  heard  Horace  White,  now  a  famous  journalist,  in  New 
York  City,  pronounce  his  graduation  speech,  and  I  hardly  knew 
which  most  impressed  my  fancy,  his  address  on  “Aristocracy,”  or 
his  lemon-colored  gloves.  We  had  rejoiced  in  the  brass  band  on 
these  occasions,  and  hummed  its  airs  for  a  whole  year  after- 

(62) 


The  Women  Folks  Left  Behind. 


63 


ward.  And  now  “  Ollie  ”  was  to  go,  and  sometime  he  would  be 
a  part  of  all  this  pageant,  but  not  the  girls.  This  gave  to  me 
those  “long,  long  thoughts”  of  which  my  cousin  Morilla  Hill 
had  read  to  me  in  a  classical  book  : 

“  A  boy’s  will  is  the  wind’s  will, 

And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts.” 

(Only,  when  she  read  it,  I  always  said  “  a  girl' s  will.”) 

So  the  new  suit  of  clothes  was  made,  the  trunk  packed  with 
every  good  and  pleasant  thing  that  we  could  think  of,  even  to  a 
little  note  from  Mary,  “just  to  surprise  him  when  he’s  lonesome,” 
and  I  made  a  pen- wiper  for  him — one  of  my  very  few  achieve¬ 
ments  in  that  line.  Mother  put  in  his  Bible,  Watts  “On  the 
Mind,”  and  Beecher’s  “Lectures  to  Young  Men,”  and  Bridget 
'got  up  such  a  dinner  of  roast  turkey  as  made  him  sigh  at  thought 
of  how  much  too  much  he  had  eaten,  as  wTell  as  at  thought  of 
how  much  too  little  he  should  get  in  future  of  flavors  from  the 
bounteous  old  farm. 

Father  and  he  mounted  the  big  wagon,  stored  with  bed,  stove, 
etc.,  for  his  room,  and  that  precious  new  trunk  ;  crack  went  the 
whip,  round  rolled  the  wheels,  and  Oliver  was  gone  for  aye  ! 

“  Does  God  want  families  to  be  broken  up  this  way?  ”  was 
my  queryT,  as  I  watched  them  from  the  front  piazza  until  my 
brother’s  waving  handkerchief  was  lost  to  view.  “I  don’t  be¬ 
lieve  He  does,  and  it  would  be  far  better  for  Oliver  and  for  me, 
too,  if  we  had  gone  together.” 

“  Or,  better  still,  if  we  could  all  go  together,  and  you  three 
children  still  live  on  at  home,  until  you  had  homes  of  your  own,” 
said  mother  gently,  as  we  three  women  folks,  feeling  dreadfully 
left  behind,  wiped  our  ey^es  and  went  in  to  help  Bridget  clear 
away  the  dinner  dishes. 

(Later,  in  one  vacation  time,  Oliver  went  to  y^oke  up  his 
“steers,”  when  one  of  them  deliberately  kicked  him  squarely 
below  the  knee,  and  he  fell  to  the  ground  with  a  broken  leg — the 
)  second  in  the  family,  for  father  had  had  the  same  mishap  at  the 
t  County  Fair.  Mike  and  Edward  got  a  board,  lifted  him  upon  it, 

|  brought  him  in  and  laid  him  on  his  bed,  while  Bridget  followed 
i  with  her  apron  over  her  head,  crying  aloud,  and  his  mother  and 
rsisters  threw  the  harness  upon  Jack,  and  got  him  ready  for  Mike 
to  drive  to  town  to  bring  Dr.  Chittenden.  Our  faces  were  white, 


64 


First  Sight  of  “  the  East." 


j 


but  we  didn’t  cry  at  all,  and  as  for  Oliver,  lie,  who  never  had  but 
this  one  accident,  and  was  almost  never  ill,  bore  the  long  and 
painful  visitation  like  a  philosopher.  Indeed,  his  good-nature 
never  forsook  him.  but  his  jokes  and  quaint,  original  turns  of 
expression,  made  bright  and  pleasant  every  place  he  entered. 
Carried  to  his  room  now,  he  lay  there  all  through  the  heat  of 
summer,  his  devoted  mother,  for  the  first  few  nights  after  the 
accident,  never  undressing,  but  remaining  all  night  at  his  bed¬ 
side,  with  her  hand  upon  his,  that  he  might  not,  by  moving, 
hazard  the  successful  knitting  of  the  bone.  She  was  the  most 
famous  nurse  in  all  the  region  round  about — so  firm  and  gentle, 
with  resources  for  every  emergency,  and  such  a  heart,  full  of  cour¬ 
age  and  good  cheer,  that  I  often  said  :  “I  have  yet  to  hear  my 
mother  utter  the  first  downcast  word.” 

We  girls  read  many  books  aloud  to  our  brother  that  sum¬ 
mer:  “  Don  Quixote,”  “  Gil  Bias,”  the  “  Dunciad,  ”  “  Gulliver’s 
Travels,”  and  others  that  he  liked. 

One  autumn,  when  mother  had  gone  East  once  more,  this 
time  to  take  care  of  Oliver,  who  had  been  at  Oberlin  in  school 
and  went  down  to  Churchville,  where  all  the  “relatives”  lived, 
because  he  fell  ill,  father  told  us  on  very  short  notice,  to  “pack 
our  trunk  and  be  ready,  for  he  was  going  East  to  see  the  folks, 
and  we  might  go  along.” 

We  girls  had  never  been  on  the  cars  in  our  lives,  except  once, 
to  attend  the  State  Fair  at  Milwaukee  and  spend  a  day  or  two 
at  ‘  ‘  Rosebank,”  Charles  Gifford’s  home  ;  and  no  shriek  of  loco¬ 
motive  had  disturbed  the  town  of  Janesville  until  ten  years  after 
we.  came  to  live  near  there.  So  it  was  with  an  indescribable 
twittering  of  heart  and  tongue  that  this  great  news  was  received. 
Bridget  set  at  work  to  get  up  “such  a  lunch  as  would  make  your 
eyes  glisten.”  Loren  wandered  how  “we  could  bear  to  go  off 
and  leave  the  old  place  ’  ’ ;  the  Hodge  children  bemoaned  our  pro¬ 
spective  absence  ;  Professor  and  Mrs.  Hodge  helped  us  to  plan  and 
pack  the  new  trunk  father  had  brought  us.  My  only  thought 
was  to  get  my  pet  manuscripts  in,  and  Mary,  while  not  forgetful 
of  the  nice  new  clothes  that  father  had  provided,  was  specially 
intent  upon  having  her  sketch-board  and  paints  along. 

Mike  carried  our  happy  trio  to  Afton,  five  miles  down  the 
river,  where  we  took  the  train,  and  in  less  than  a  night  and  a 


A  Wonderful  Fortnight. 


65 


day  the  Westerners  were  at  Church ville,  a  pretty  little  place, 
fourteen  miles  this  side  of  Rochester,  where  lived  nearly  every 
relative  we  had  in  the  world.  Here  we  spent  a  wonderful  fort¬ 
night,  all  our  kindred  gathering  in  the  home  of  each  for  a  “visit  ” 
lasting  all  day  and  well  into  the  evening.  The  tables  groaned 
under  the  multiplied  good  things  that  a  Monroe  county  farm 
supplies,  and  young  folks  went  by  themselves  for  fun  and  frolic 
outdoors  and  in,  while  older  ones  talked  of  wha/t  had  been,  and 
rejoiced  in  all  the  good  that  was. 

Father’s  smart,  witty,  old  mother  was  living,  as  was  mother’s 
father,  so  mighty  in  prayer  and  exhortation.  Most  of  our  cous¬ 
ins  had  been  to  Oberlin,  or  else  were  going  there  to  study,  and 
among  them  all,  the  best  and  most  gifted  was  Charlotte  Gilman, 
about  my  age,  and  greatly  loved  and  admired  by  her  Western 
cousin  for  her  gifts  of  heart  and  mind  and  pen — for  Charlotte 
was  looking  forward  to  a  literary  career.  We  two  girls  had  no 
end  of  talks,  going  off  at  every  opportunity,  with  arms  over  each 
other’s  shoulders,  to  plan  for  what  we  meant  to  be  and  do,  while 
Oliver,  the  young  collegian,  with  his  gay  talk,  kept  his  sturdy 
young  men  cousins,  Willard,  Wright,  and  James,  in  roars  of 
laughter,  as  they  all  took  care  of  the  many  horses  at  the  barn, 
or  led  at  “playing  proverbs”  with  their  bright  young  lady 
cousins,  Maty,  Emily  and  Sarah.  Our  Mary  was  the  universal 
favorite,  her  chubby  figure,  smiling  blue  eyes,  sweet  voice,  and 
loving  spirit,  winning  everybody.  She  liked  to  keep  pretty  near 
her  mother,  whose  absence  she  had  so  keenly  felt.  We  went 
over  to  Uncle  Aaron’s  and  Aunt  Rebecca’s,  and  fell  in  love  with 
our  quiet,  gentle  Cousin  Catharine  ;  listened?  with  reverence  to 
the  wise  words  of  that  born  philosopher,  our  Uncle  James  ;  rode 
behind  Uncle  John’s  spanking  team,  and  marveled  at  Aunt  Hester 
Ann’s  immaculate  housekeeping ;  doted  on  the  two  old  home¬ 
steads  where  father  and  mother  were  brought  up — so  staid  and 
roomy,  so  historic-looking  in  contrast  to  the  West.  We  visited 
the  old  stone  school-house,  where  our  parents  had  been  pupils, 
and  went  to  meeting  in  the  old  stone  church  called  “  The  House 
of  God  in  Ogden,”  because  it  was  a  union  of  denominations,  and 
could  n’t  take  the  name  of  any. 

We  drove  to  Rochester  to  see  the  sights,  and  thought  it  the 
most  beautiful  of  cities  ;  listened  with  delight  to  a  hundred  stories 


66 


Rivalry  of  East  and  West. 


of  the  olden  time,  and  how  father  had  started  out  early  for  him¬ 
self,  and  mother  had  taught  hereabouts  “eleven  summers  and 
seven  winters,”  beginning  when  she  was  but  fifteen. 

We  lamented  the  absence  of  Cousin  Morilla  Hill,  a  graduate  of 
Leroy  Female  Seminary,  who  was  our  ideal  of  everything  gifted 
and  good  ;  but  take  them  for  all  in  all,  those  four  weeks  when 
Aunt  Caroline’s  home  was  ours  and  we  went  visiting  to  Uncle 
Zophar’s,  Uncle  Calvin  and  Aunt  Maria’s,  Aunt  Church’s,  Aunt 
Hill’s,  Cousin  John  Hill’s  and  all  the  rest,  seemed  to  us  like  a 
merry-go-round  that  left  us  almost  dizzy  with  delight.  And 
when  we  took  the  train  for  home,  waving  good-bys  from  the 
platform  to  our  dear  kindred,  and  seeing  the  pretty  village  with 
bridge  and  creek,  white  church  spires  and  fair  fields,  fade  out  of 
view,  we  two  girls  were  for  a  little  while  quite  inconsolable.  > 

“When  we  went  East”  was  the  most  important  date  in 
history  from  that  time  on  for  years.  The  world  was  wider  than 
we  had  thought,  and  our  security  in  the  old  liome-nest  was  never¬ 
more  so  great  as  it  had  been  previous  to  this  long  flight. 

During  the  quiet  evenings  at  Forest  Home  we  used  often  to 
compare  views  concerning  East  and  West.  Father  had  carried 
to  New  York  a  box  of  the  rich,  coal-black  soil  of  the  Forest 
Home  farm,  and  told  our  cousin,  Willard  Robinson,  that  the 
Eastern  soil  in  the  fields  and  on  the  roads  looked  ‘  ‘  light-com- 
plexioned,  thin  and  poor.”  “  Never  you  mind,”  retorted  the 
sturdy  young  farmer,  who  was  Oliver’s  favorite,  “you  must  judge 
by  the  crops  and  the  yield  per  acre.  Yes,  and  the  price,  too ;  we 
can  beat  you  on  that,  every  time,  and  when  it  comes  to  wheat,  we 
beat  the  world  at  tkat  product,  as  you  know.” 

The  Westerners  had  to  admit  that  there  was  no  such  variety  of 
foliage  in  Wisconsin  as  in  Monroe  county,  N.  Y.;  that  stone  fences 
were  more  solid  than  “sod  and  ditch,”  or  “stake  and  rider,”  or 
“  log  on  end,”  or  “  rail  ”  fences,  such  as  theirs  ;  that  the  homes 
had  a  general  look  of  thrift,  snugness  and  well-to-do-ness  not 
found  on  the  prairies  (“except  ours,”  stoutly  urged  Oliver),  and 
that  ‘  ‘  it  was  wonderfully  nice  to  have  a  cellar  full  of  apples.  ’  ’  I 
ran  a  race  on  apple  eating  with  my  “  York  State  ”  Cousin  Sarah, 
and  reached  in  one  day  a  figure  so  high  that  it  would  hardly  do 
to  tell. 

I  admitted  that  the  landscape  at  the  East  was  more  cozy,  but 


Our  Numerous  Pets. 


67 


urged  that  out  West  it  was  more  “  outdoorsy  ”  and  that  it  was 
better  and  bigger.  But  Cousin  Lottie  insisted,  “You  haven’t 
any  history  West,  except  as  you  make  it  yourselves,  while  we 
have  the  old  traditions  of  the  early  pioneers,  the  old  stone  school- 
house  and  church  ;  then,  too,  we  have  that  beautiful  graveyard 
where  our  dear  great-grandmother  lies,  who  was  almost  ninety- 
seven  when  she  died,  and  ever  so  many  others  of  ‘  the  best  and 
truest  hearts  that  ever  beat.  ’  ’  ’ 

Silence  was  my  only  response  to  these  assertions.  True,  I 
had  seen  no  other  cemetery,  and  I  had  a  wonderful  reverence  for 

I  the  past,  but  I  told  Oliver  later,  in  confidence,  that  “when  it 
came  to  mentioning  the  graveyard  as  a  cheerful  feature  of  the 
landscape,  I  wasn’t  up  to  it.’’  Poor,  foolish  young  thing  !  So 
little  did  I  know  about  transition,  and  that  “  there  is  no  death.” 
But  when  my  heart  well-nigh  broke,  later,  at  loss  of  the  dearest 
and  best,  then  I  found  out,  as  we  all  do.  . 

I11  studies  the  Easterners  were  far  ahead  of  Mary  and  me, 
but  not  of  Oliver,  which  was  a  great  help  to  his  sisters’  “  family 
pride.”  Indeed,  he  had  no  superiors  for  scholarship,  or  writing 
and  speaking  gifts,  in  college. 

As  regards  pets,  our  Eastern  cousins  had  been  forced  to 
admit  themselves  outnumbered.  ‘  ‘  Simmie,  the  learned  lamb  ’  ’ ; 

‘  ‘  Sukey,  the  pig  that  drank  lye  and  was  cured  by  loppered  milk  ’  ’  ; 
“  Stumpy,  the  chicken  whose  legs  froze  off,  and  which  knew  .so 
much  it  could  almost  talk  ” ;  “  Ranger,  the  dog  that  killed  sheep, 
and  had  to  be  killed  himself  ” ;  “  Nig,  the  black  goat  ” ;  “  Trudge, 
the  Maltese  kitten,”  and  “  Roly-poly,  the  tame  mouse,”  passed  in 
review  like  a  Noah’s  ark  menagerie,  and  formed  my  special  list, 
while  Mary  described  the  “  peacock  that  never  was  suited  except 
when  seated  011  the  ridge  of  the  barn  “  our  guinea-hens  that 
took  the  prize  ” ;  “our  Suffolk  piggy-wiggies  that  can’t  be  beat 
for  cur.ningness.  ” 

“  And  then  the  folks  !  ”  said  Oliver,  “  they’re  so  big-hearted, 
so  progressive,  and  willing  to  live  and  let  live.  I  tell  you,  Hor¬ 
ace  Greeley  has  it  right — ‘ Go  West,  young  man,  go  West .’ ”  But 
the  home  farms  were  so  fertile  and  handsome,  the  old  places  and 
traditions  so  dear  that  none  of  our  New  Yorkers  ever  followed 
this  sage  advice.  Father  and  his  family  were  the  “  rolling  stones 
that  gather  no  moss.”  “Who  cares!”  Oliver  used  to  say; 


68  A  Mysterious  Box. 

“  What  we  want  is  not  moss,  but  momentum,  and  a  rolling  stone 
gets  that.” 

Lord  Chesterfield’s  “  Letters  on  Politeness,  Written  to  his 
Son,”  was  a  book  read  through  and  through  at  Forest  Home. 
Mother  talked  much  to  her  children  about  good  manners,  and 
insisted  on  our  having  ‘  ‘  nice,  considerate  ways,  ’  ’  as  she  called 
them,  declaring  that  these  were  worth  far  more  than  money  in 
the  race  of  life. 

Oliver  brought  home  many  books  from  college  ;  indeed,  while 
there,  he  got  together  a  library  of  about  eight  hundred  volumes. 
The  book-case  in  father’s  room  had  Shakspeare,  which  Oliver 
and  I  had  each  read  before  we  were  fifteen,  and  reviewed  to 
suit  ourselves  as  to  our  favorite  plays  ;  also  the  English  Reader, 
which  we  knew  nearly  by  heart,  and  volumes  of  travel  and  biog¬ 
raphy;  but,  after  all,  there  were  not  very  many  books  we  cared 
for.  Newspapers  and  magazines  were  our  chief  reading  until 
this  wonderful  library  of  Oliver’s  began  to  appear  upon  the  scene. 
Here  were  cyclopedias,  Bohn’s  translations  of  the  classics,  the 
English  poets,  essayists  and  historians.  It  was  a  perfect  revel¬ 
ing  place  and  revelation. 

One  day  I  noticed  in  the  Prairie  Farmer  that  the  Illinois 
Agricultural  Society  had  offered  a  prize  for  the  best  essay  on  the 
‘  ‘  Embellishment  of  a  Country  Home,  ’  ’  and  right  away  I  said  to 
my  mother,  11  I’m  going  to  compete.”  As  usual,  she  encouraged 
me  to  “branch  out”  and  so,  pencil  in  hand  (for  I  “couldn't 
think  at  all  except  thus  armed  and  equipped  ”),  I  began  my  for¬ 
midable  task.  I  had  this  in  my  favor,  that  my  own  home  was  a 
model,  and  that  I  had  seen  it  grow  from  nothing  to  a  bower  of 
beauty.  What  little  I  could  do  at  writing  or  anything  else,  I 
always  did  “  upon  the  fly,”  my  brother  said,  and  it  was  true  ;  so 
the  essay  was  soon  ready  and  criticised  by  my  four  standbys, 
father  inserting  a  characteristic  sentence  :  “Plant  trees,  and  do 
not  fail,  for  health  and  beauty’s  sake,  to  plant  the  evergreen — 
the  emblem  of  perpetual  life.  ’  ’  A  few  months  after,  a  small  box 
came  through  the  postoffice,  addressed  to  me.  I  had  never  before 
received  anything  in  Uncle  Sam’s  care  that  looked  so  ominous. 
Strings  were  cut,  tissue  papers  removed,  and  behold  !  there  was  a 
handsome  silver  medal  with  my  name,  and  the  words,  “  First  prize 


“  Choked  with  Ribbons 


69 


for  essay,”  and  a  lovely  cup,  besides,  while  under  all  was  a  note 
from  “S.  Francis,  Secretary  Illinois  Agricultural  Society,”  con¬ 
gratulating  “  a  lady  so  young  on  an  achievement  so  creditable.” 
I  was  of  an  enthusiastic  nature  —  that  was  evident  from  the  way 
I  went  with  a  hop,  skip  and  jump  through  every  room  in  the 
house,  singing  out  “  Hurrah  !  ”  until  Bridget  in  the  kitchen,  Mike 
in  the  garden,  and  rollicking  old  Carlo  took  up  the  strain,  and  the 
whole  family  laughed  and  shouted  and  rejoiced  in  my  joy. 

No  girl  went  through  a  harder  experience  than  I,  when  my 
free,  out-of-door  life  had  to  cease,  and  the  long  skirts  and  clubbed- 
up  hair  spiked  with  hair-pins  had  to  be  endured.  The  half  of 
that  down-heartedness  has  never  been  told  and  never  can  be.  I 
always  believed  that  if  I  had  been  let  alone  and  allowed  as  a 
woman,  what  I  had  had  as  a  girl,  a  free  life  in  the  country,  where 
a  human  being  might  grow,  body  and  soul,  as  a  tree  grows,  I 
would  have  been  ‘  ‘  ten  times  more  of  a  person,  ’  ’  every  way.  Mine 
was  a  nature  hard  to  tame,  and  I  cried  long  and  loud  when  I 
found  I  could  never  again  race  and  range  about  with  freedom. 
I  had  delighted  in  my  short  hair  and  nice  round  hat,  or  comfort¬ 
able  “Shaker  bonnet,”  but  now  I  was  to  be  “choked  with  rib¬ 
bons”  when  I  went  into  the  open  air  the  rest  of  my  days. 
Something  like  the  following  was  the  “state  of  mind”  that  I 
revealed  to  my  journal  about  this  time  : 

This  is  my  birthday  and  the  date  of  my  martyrdom.  Mother  insists 
that  at  last  I  must  have  my  hair  “  done  up  woman-fashion.”  She  says  she 
can  hardly  forgive  herself  for  letting  me  “run  wild  ”  so  long.  We’ve  had  a 
great  time  over  it  all,  and  here  I  sit  like  another  Samson^  “  shorn  of  my 
strength.”  That  figure  won’t  do,  though,  for  the  greatest  trouble  with  me  is 
that  I  never  shall  be  shorn  again.  My  “  back”  hair  is  twisted  up  like  a  cork¬ 
screw  ;  I  carry  eighteen  hair-pins  ;  my  head  aches  miserably  ;  my  feet  are 
entangled  in  the  skirt  of  my  hateful  new  gown.  I  can  never  jump  over  a 
fence  again,  so  long  as  I  live.  As  for  chasing  the  sheep,  down  in  the  shady 
pasture,  it’s  out  of  the  question,  and  to  climb  to  my  “  Hagle’s-nest  ”  seat  in 
the  big  burr-oak  would  ruin  this  new  frock  beyond  repair.  Altogether,  I 
recognize  the  fact  that  my  “  occupation’s  gone.” 

Something  else  that  had  already  happened,  helped  to  stir  up 
my  spirit  into  a  mighty  unrest.  This  is  the  story  as  I  told  it 
to  my  journal : 

This  is  election  day  and  my  brother  is  twenty-one  years  old.  How 
proud  he  seemed  as  he  dressed  up  in  his  best  Sunday  clothes  and  drove  off  in 
the  big  wagon  with  father  and  the  hired  men  to  vote  for  John  C.  Fremont, 


70 


Busy-ness— Happiness. 


like  the  sensible  “  Free-soiler  ”  that  he  is.  My  sister  and  I  stood  at  the 
window  and  looked  out  after  them.  Somehow,  I  felt  a  lump  in  my  throat, 
and  then  I  could  n’t  see  their  wagon  any  more,  things  got  so  blurred.  I 
turned  to  Mary,  and  she,  dear  little  innocent,  seemed  wonder  fully  sober,  too. 
I  said,  “Wouldn’t  you  like  to  vote  as  well  as  Oliver?  Don’t  you  and  I 
love  the  country  just  as  well  as  he,  and  does  n’t  the  country  need  our 
ballots  ?  ”  Then  she  looked  scared,  but  answered,  in  a  minute,  “  ’Course  we 
do,  and  ’course  we  ought, —  but  don’t  you  go  ahead  and  say  so,  for  then  we 
would  be  called  strong-minded.” 

These  two  great  changes  in  my  uneventful  life  made  me  so 
distressed  in  heart  that  I  had  half  a  mind  to  run  away.  But  the 
trouble  was,  I  had  n’t  the  faintest  idea  where  to  run  to.  Across 
the  river,  near  Colonel  Burdick’s,  lived  Silas  Hayner  and  several 
of  his  brothers,  on  their  nice  prairie  farms.  Sometimes  Emily 
Scoville,  Hannah  Hayner,  or  some  other  of  the  active  young 
women,  would  come  over  to  help  mother  when  there  was  more 
work  than  usual ;  and  with  Hannah,  especially,  I  had  fellowship, 
because,  like  myself,  she  was  venturesome  in  disposition  ;  could 
row  a  boat,  or  fire  a  gun,  and  liked  to  be  always  out-of-doors.  She 
was  older  than  I,  and  entered  into  all  my  plans.  So  we  two  fool¬ 
ish  creatures  planned  to  borrow  father’s  revolver  and  go  off  on  a 
wild-goose  chase,  crossing  the  river  in  a  canoe  and  launching  out 
to  seek  our  fortunes.  But  the  best  part  of  the  story  is  that  we  were 
never  so  silly  as  to  take  a  step  beyond  the  old  home-roof,  con¬ 
tenting  ourselves  with  talking  the  matter  over  in  girlish  phrase, 
and  very  soon  perceiving  how  mean  and  ungrateful  such  an  act 
would  be.  Indeed,  I  told  Mary  and  mother  all  about  it,  after 
a  little  while,  and  that  ended  the  only  really  “  wild  ”  plan  that  I 
ever  made,  except  another,  not  unlike  it,  in  my  first  months  at 
Evanston,  which  was  also  nothing  but  a  plan. 

“  You  must  go  to  school,  my  child,  and  take  a  course  of 
study  ;  I  wish  it  might  be  to  Oberlin  ”  — this  was  my  mother’s 
quiet  comment  on  the  confession.  “Your  mind  is  active;  you 
are  fond  of  books  and  thoughts,  as  well  as  of  outdoors  ;  we  must 
provide  them  for  you  to  make  up  for  the  loss  of  your  girlish 
good  times;”  so,  without  any  scolding,  this  Roman  matron  got 
her  daughter’s  aspirations  into  another  channel.  To  be  busy 
doing  something  that  is  worthy  to  be  done  is  the  happiest  thing 
in  all  this  world  for  girl  or  boy,  for  old  or  young. 

On  the  day  I  was  eighteen,  my  mother  made  a  birthday 


7i 


“  I  Am  Eigh teen . ’ ’ 


cake,  and  I  was  in  the  highest  possible  glee.  I  even  went  so  far 
as  to  write  what  Oliver  called  a  “pome,”  which  has  passed  into 
oblivion,  but  of  which  these  lines  linger  in  memory’s  whispering- 
gallery  : 


I  AM  EIGHTEEN. 

The  last  year  is  passed  ; 

The  last  month,  week,  day,  hour  and  moment. 
For  eighteen  years,  quelling  all  thoughts 
And  wishes  of  my  own, 

I’ve  been  obedient  to  the  powers  that  were. 
Not  that  the  yoke  was  heavy  to  be  borne 
And  grievous, 

Do  I  glory  that  ’tis  removed — 

For  lighter  ne’er  did  parents  fond 
Impose  on  child. 

It  was  a  silver  chain  ; 

But  the  bright  adjective 

Takes  not  away  the  clanking  sound 

That  follows  it. 

There  is  a  God  — an  uncreated  Fife 
That  dwells  in  mystery. 

Him,  as  a  part  of  his  vast,  boundless  self, 

I  worship,  scorning  not,  nor  yet  reluctantly 
Paying  my  vows  to  the  Most  High. 

And  this  command,  by  Him  imposed, 
“Children,  obey  your  parents,” 

I  receive  and  honor,  for  He  says  : 

“Obey  them  in  the  Ford,” 

And  Pie  is  Ford  and  God  ! 

But  now  having  thro’  waitings  long, 

And  liopings  manifold, 

Arrived  here  at  the  limit  of  minority, 

I  bid  it  now,  and  evermore,  adieu, 

And,  sinful  though  it  may  be, 

Weep  not,  nor  sigh, 

As  it  fades  with  the  night. 

*****  * 

The  clock  has  struck  ! 

O  !  heaven  and  earth,  I’m  free  ! 

And  here,  beneath  the  watching  stars,  I  feel 
New  inspiration.  Breathing  from  afar 
And  resting  on  my  spirit  as  it  ne’er 
Could  rest  before,  comes  joy  profound. 

And  now  I  feel  that  I’m  alone  and  free 
To  worship  and  obey  Jehovah  only. 


72 


Freedom  and  Rebellion. 


Glorious  thought  !  Maker  and  made, 

Creator  and  created, 

With  no  bonds  intervening  ! 

One  free,  to  worship  and  obedience  pay, 

The  other  on  His  heaven-spanning  throne, 

Deigning  to  receive  the  homage  of  His  child. 

God  will  I  worship  then,  henceforth, 

And  evermore ; 

’  Tis  night,  and  men  and  angels  sleep, 

While  I  adore. 

Toivard  evening,  on  this  “freedom  day,”  I  took  my  seat 
quietly  in  mother’s  rocking-chair,  and  began  to  read  Scott’s 
“  Ivanhoe.”  Father  was  opposed  to  story  books,  and  on  coming 
in  he  scanned  this  while  his  brow  grew  cloudy. 

“  I  thought  I  told  you  not  to  read  novels,  Frances,”  he 
remarked,  seriously. 

“So  you  did,  father,  and  in  the  main  I’ve  kept  faith  with 
you  in  this  ;  but  you  forget  what  day  it  is.” 

“  What  day,  indeed  !  I  should  like  to  know  if  the  day  has 
anything  to  do  with  the  deed  !  ” 

“  Indeed  it  has — I  am  eighteen-— I  am  of  age — I  am  now  to 
do  what  /  think  right,  and  to  read  this  fine  historical  story  is,  in 
my  opinion,  a  right  thing  for  me  to  do.” 

My  father  could  hardly  believe  his  ears.  He  was  what  they 
call  “  dumbfounded.”  At  first  he  was  inclined  to  take  the  book 
away,  but  that  would  do  harm,  he  thought,  instead  of  good,  so 
lie  concluded  to  see  this  novel  action  from  the  funny  side,  and 
laughed  heartily  over  the  situation,  Oliver  doing  the  same,  and 
both  saying  in  one  breath,  “  A  -chip  of  the  old  block.” 

After  the  visit  Hast  we  began  to  be  somewhat  restive  even 
in  our  blessed  old  nest,  and  gave  our  father  little  peace  till  he 
arranged  to  send  us  away  to  school,  and  so  it  came  about  that  in 
the  spring  of  1858  \\re  left  our  Forest  Home  forever.  Hooking 
back  upon  it  in  the  sweet  valley  of  memory  and  from  the  slow- 
climbed  heights  of  years,  my  heart  repeats  with  tender  loyalty 
the  words  written  by  Alice  Cary  about  her  country  home  : 

“  Bright  as  the  brightest  sunshine, 

The  light  of  memory  streams 
’’Round  the  old-fashioned  homestead, 

Where  I  dreamed  my  dream  of  dreams .” 


2T1)r  1i)iU>p)>  ijmtu'ut. 


“  I  WOULD 

kvkr.  Tiiks  3 

TAIX  ME  NTS  OF 


STUDY, 
v  WORKS 
THE  HL 


I  WOULD  KNOW 
OF  THOUGHT 
’MAN  SPIRIT  IN 


,  I  WOULD 
HAVE  BEEN 
ALL  AGES.” 


ADMIRE  FOR- 
THE  ENTER- 


\ 


CHAPTER  I. 


DELIGHTFUL  DAYS  AT  SCHOOL. 

A  little  group  around  my  mother’s  knee  studying  a  book  and 
afterward  going  with  her  into  my  father’s  flower  garden  where 
she  plucked  rewards  of  merit  for  us  in  the  shape  of  pinks  and 
pansies,  is  my  earliest  memory  as  a  student.  Mary  and  Maria 
Thome,  children  of  our  own  ages,  and  daughters  of  Professor 
Thome,  of  Oberlin  College,  were  among  the  group,  and  my  first 
impressions  of  study  take  me  to  that  fragrant  garden,  where 
choice  flowers  circled  around  a  handsome  evergreen,  snowdrops 
and  snowball  bushes  brightened  the  scene,  and  upon  all  the 
diamond  dewdrops  glistened. 

Soon  after  that  we  took  our  journey  into  a  far  country,  five 
hundred  miles  overland  in  the  white  “ships  of  the  prairie,”  and 
for  two  years  I  have  no  special  recollection  of  books  for  my 
parents  were  very  busy  with  the  farm. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  I  remember  distinctly  the  first  time  I 
ever  wrote  my  name,  doubtless  for  the  reason  that  I  was  late  in 
learning,  probably  nine  years  old.  We  had  been  kept  diligently 
to  the  writing  of  pot-hooks,  and  other  uninteresting  forms,  filling 
little  copy-books  with  them  as  we  sat  around  the  table  in  the 
large,  bright  kitchen  at  Forest  Home,  with  all  the  conveniences 
for  the  evening  school  that  my  mother  maintained  steadily  for 
her  children  and  the  hired  help  alike,  during  the  long,  cold 
winter  of  1848,  while  my  father  was  at  Madison,  the  capital  of  Wis¬ 
consin,  sixty  miles  away,  attending  to  his  duties  as  a  legislator. 

(73) 


74 


The  Best  Autograph . 


A  vaulting  ambition  entered  my  little  head,  and  I  said  to  my 
indulgent  teacher,  “Just  write  my  own  name  for  me  in  your 
nice  hand,  and  see  if  I  can  not  imitate  it  pretty  well.”  So  with 
great  care,  she  wrote  it  out,  and  it  looked  beautiful  to  me,  stand¬ 
ing  there  at  the  head  of  a  fresh  sheet  of  foolscap  paper.  Mother’s 
writing  was  very  clear  and  even  ;  like  her  character,  it  had  a  cer¬ 
tain  grace  and  harmony.  I  used  to  think  some  of  her  capitals 
were  pretty  as  a  picture.  How  long  I  gazed  upon  that  magical 
creation  I  can  not  tell,  but  it  was  imprinted  so  deeply  on  my 
memory  that  I  could  not  forget  the  incident,  and  looking  long 
and  steadily  upon  the  copy  she  had  given  me,  I  followed  it  so 
well,  “the  first  time  trying,”  that  I  have  sometimes  thought  the 
first  was  the  best  autograph  I  ever  wrote. 

Thus,  in  a  desultory  fashion,  our  lessons  proceeded  until  I 
was  nearly  twelve  years  old.  About  this  time  my  father  brought 
home  from  Janesville  an  elegant  card  announcing  that  a  college- 
bred  gentleman  from  the  East  was  about  to  open  a  classical 
school  in  that  town.  Around  the  edge  of  the  card  were  some 
Latin  words  that  I  did  not  understand,  but  my  father  taught  me 
how  to  pronounce  them  and  what  they  meant.  They  were  as 
follows  :  Scicntia  audoritas  est  ct  labor  vindt  omnia ,  and  he  told 
me  they  meant,  “Knowledge  is  power  and  labor  conquers  all 
things.”  Very  many  times  I  said  them  over  to  myself,  much 
more  I  thought  about  them,  seriously  determining  that  I  would 
attain  knowledge  so  far  as  in  me  lay,  and  that  I  would  compass 
the  results  which  labor  can  achieve  for  one  who  is  in  earnest.  I 
know  no  other  road  out  of  the  wilderness.  It  is  the  straight  and 
narrow  way,  appointed  in  so  much  of  kindness  by  Him  who 
knows  from  the  beginning  what  we  often  learn  only  at  the  end, 
viz.,  that  traveling  the  road  does  us  more  good  than  all  we  gather 
on  the  way  or  find  awaiting  us  when  we  achieve  the  goal. 

As  time  passed  on,  mother  became  very  much  in  earnest  for 
us  to  go  to  school.  But  there  was  no  school-house  in  our  district, 
so  she  “  put  on  her  thinking-cap,”  as  we  were  wont  to  say,  and, 
as  usual,  something  came  of  it.  Once  or  twice  she  had  met  at 
church  in  Janesville,  a  new  family  from  the  East,  by  the  name  of 
Burdick.  They  had  bought  a  large  farm  across  Rock  river, 
hardly  a  mile  away  “on  a  bee  line,”  but  as  the  river  was  usually 
too  daep  to  ford,  it  was  miles  around  by  the  town  bridge. 


The  Board  of  Education. 


75 


Still  carrying  out  our  favorite  play,  the  “  Fort  City  Board  of 
Education”  was  organized,  with  mother  in  the  chair.  The 
meeting  was  regularly  opened  by  singing  and  prayer,  and  then 
mother  stated  the  object  of  the  assembly. 

Oliver  followed  her,  saying,  “Mrs.  Chairman,  I  agree  with 
all  that  has  been  said,  and  so  well  said.  If  we  young  folks  don’t 
amount  to  something  when  we  grow  up,  it  won’t  be  the  fault  of 
materfamilias.  ’  ’ 

“  But,”  continued  he,  “  I  hardly  see  what  we’ve  got  to  make 
an  institution  of  learning  out  of,  here  in  Fort  City.  Father  and 
mother  know  too  much  to  go  to  school,  and  they  have  n’t  time  to 
do  the  teaching.  As  for  me,  I’ve  graduated,  you  know,  from- 
Fort  City,  and  am  a  Janesvilleian.  Loren  is  a  hopeless  case,  de¬ 
voted  to  his  traps,  and  guns,  and  farm  work.  The  girls  have 
taught  Mike  to  read  and  write,  and  that  is  all  he  wants  to  know 
in  the  way  of  ‘book-learning.’  Bridget  wouldn’t  be  bothered 
with  even  that  much,  when  we  offered  to  teach  her.  So  the 
case  narrows  down  to  this  :  Frank  and  Mary  are  growing  up  in 
heathenish  darkness.  ’  ’ 

As  I  “  rose  to  a  point  of  order  ”  here,  protesting  that  mother 
had  taught  us,  and  taught  us  well,  thus  far,  and  that  we  were  not 
quite  so  ignorant  as  the  speaker  implied,  Oliver  hastened  to 
qualify  his  statement. 

“  I  mean,”  he  continued,  “  that  Frank  and  Mary  ought  now 
to  have  advantages  greater  than  it  is  possible  for  you,  Mrs. 
Chairman,  in  the  limited,  time  at  your  disposal,  to  bestow  upon 
them.  So  I  move  that  we  found  an  academy  for  their  special 
benefit.  ’  ’ 

This  proposal  met  with  unanimous  approval,  and  the  motion 
was  carried  with  enthusiasm.  So  resolving  ourselves  into  a 
“  Committee  of  the  Whole  on  Ways  and  Means,”  we  began  to 
canvass  possibilities.  Where  could  we  have  the  academy  ? 
Who  would  be  the  teacher?  These  were  vital  questions  to 
Mary  and  me,  for  mother  was  not  more  anxious  for  our  educa¬ 
tion  than  were  we  ourselves.  After  much  talk,  pro  and  con, 
mother  reminded  us  of  our  new  neighbors,  the  Burdick  family, 
and  we  at  once  appointed  her  our  ‘  ‘  envoy  plenipotentiary,  ’  ’ 
with  full  powers  to  do  whatever  could  be  done  through  them. 


76 


Mother ’s  ‘  ‘  Homilettes.  ’  ’ 


Col.  Burdick  had  been  agent  for  Van  Rensselaer,  the  “  patroon  ” 
of  Central  New  York,  and  his  only  daughter,  Rachel  Burdick,  a 
remarkably  bright  and  winsome  girl,  had  been  permitted  to  go  to 
school  with  the  patroon’ s  children  and  was  now  a  young  lady  of 
rare  accomplishments,  to  whom  her  father’s  Western  farm  seemed 
lonely,  after  spending  her  life  thus  far  upon  the  Hudson’s  lovely 
banks,  near  Albany.  Mother  was  charmed  by  Miss  Burdick,  and 
asked  if  she  would  not  do  her  the  favor  to  come  and  teach  Mary 
and  me,  Oliver  having  already  been  two  winters  in  the  ‘  ‘  Acad¬ 
emy  ”  at  Janesville,  walking  in  and  out  each  day.  Of  course  he 
was  to  go  to  college,  but  the  fate  of  his  sisters  was  more  misty  in 
those  days.  I  looked  upon  him  as  a  prince,  and  only  wished, 
although  I  dared  not  say  it,  that  I  had  been  born  to  a  boy’s 
chances  in  the  world — though  I  never  really  wished  to  be  a  boy, 
at  least,  I  hope  not.  Miss  Burdick  agreed  to  come,  and  mother 
began  more  frequently  than  ever  to  get  off  “  homilettes,”  as  father 
called  them,  in  the  following  strain  : 

‘  ‘  The  dearest  wish  of  my  heart,  except  that  my  children  shall 
be  Christians,  is  that  they  shall  be  well  educated.  A  good  edu¬ 
cation  will  open  the  world  to  you  as  a  knife  opens  an  oyster. 
Riches  will  not  do  this,  because  riches  have  no  power  to  brighten 
the  intellect.  An  ox  and  a  philosopher  look  out  on  the  same 
world,  and  perhaps  the  ox  has  the  stronger  and  handsomer  eyes 
of  the  two,  but  the  difference  between  the  brains  behind  the  eyes 
makes  a  difference  between  the  two  beings  that  is  wider  than  all 
the  seas.  I  want  my  children’s  brains  to  be  full  of  the  best 
thoughts  that  great  minds  have  had*  in  all  centuries  ;  I  want 
stored  away  in  your  little  heads  the  story  of  what  the  world  was 
doing  before  you  came — who  were  its  poets,  its  painters  and  philos¬ 
ophers,  its  inventors  and  lawgivers.  I  want  you  to  know  what 
is  in  its  noblest  books,  and  what  its  men  of  science  say  about  their 
study  of  the  earth,  the  ocean  and  the  stars.  I  want  you  taught  to 
be  careful  and  exact  by  your  knowledge  of  figures  ;  and,  most  of 
all,  I  want  you  to  learn  how  to  speak  and  write  your  own  noble 
English  tongue,  for  without  the  power  of  expression  you  are  like  an 
seolian  harp  when  there  is  no  breeze.  Now  your  father  and  I  have 
assisted  you  and  taught  you  until  Oliver  has  already  a  good  start 
in  school  and  Frank  is  twelve  years  old.  My  son  takes  the  highest 
rank  as  a  student,  just  as  I  expected  ;  my  elder  daughter  is  de- 


First  Day1  s  Schooling. 


77 


voted  to  books  and  keeps  a  journal — which  is  a  good  beginning, 
and  my  younger  will  follow  on  into  all  that  I  desire,  and  already 
goes  beyond  the  others  in  artistic  taste.  I  have  the  promise  of 
bright  Miss  Burdick  that  she  will  come  and  teach  you  during  the 
summer,  and  by  that  time  I  hope  your  father  will  have  a  school- 
house  in  this  district.  But  for  the  present  we  will  fit  up  the  parlor 
and  the  Inman  girls  will  study  with  you.” 

This  announcement  rejoiced  us  beyond  measure,  for  these  two 
girls,  living  a  mile  away,  we  greatly  liked,  though  we  had  seldom 
seen  them,  as  theirs  was  not  a  church-going  family,  and  hence  we 
were  not  allowed  to  visit  at  their  home. 

One  Monday  school  began.  Father  had  made  a  large,  “  cross- 
legged  ’  ’  pine  table,  with  a  place  below  for  our  books,  and  around 
this,  in  the  bright,  fragrant  June  morning,  sat  four  girls,  from 
eight  to  fourteen  years  of  age,  and  at  the  head,  Miss  Burdick,  our 
eighteen-year-old  teacher. 

This  first  day’s  schooling  we  had  ever  known  we  called 
“  the  greatest  kind  of  fun.”  Indeed  we  preferred  it  to  any  other 
form  of  amusement,  for  the  reason  that  mother  had  always  cried 
it  up  as  the  choicest  experience  we  could  possibly  know,  and  be¬ 
cause  we  had  fully  entered  into  all  the  other  plays  within  our 
reach.  We  had  a  zest  for  study  that  school-cloyed  children  can 
not  dream  of,  and  learned  in  a  year  what  little  ones  are  tormented 
into,  now,  during  seven  years.  Kflie  and  Mattie  Inman  lived  over 
a  mile  down  the  river  and  had  lately  come  from  Pottsville,  Pa. 
They  were  true,  good  girls,  carefully  reared  by  a  Presbyterian 
mother  who  had  died  just  before  they  moved  West.  I  greatly 
admired  my  handsome,  dark-eyed,  curly-haired  classmate,  Effie, 
whose  .steady  sweetness  of  temper  was  so  surprising  to  one  of  my 
impetuous  nature  that  I  told  my  mother  I  had  “just  stepped  on 
Plffie’s  toes  at  recess  to  see  if  she  would  n’t  frown,  and  sure  enough 
she  did  n’t.”  My  mother  replied  that  I  had  better  set  about 
imitating  Effie’ s  lovely  ways  instead  of  carrying  on  any  more 
experiments  of  that  sort.  Mattie  was  more  like  common  clay,  but 
was  a  talkative,  impulsive  little  thing,  who  was  to  Mary  very  much 
such  an  offset  as  Effie  proved  to  be  to  me.  But  Miss  Burdick  was 
a  whole  picture  gallery  and  musical  performance  in  herself  to  us 
untutored  prairie  girls.  She  had  come  from  a  city  ;  she  knew  the 
world — that  great,  big  world  we  had  only  read  about  in  books. 


78 


Keeping  the  “  Observations.  ” 


She  was  a  lady  in  every  utterance  and  motion.  She  had  rippling 
brown  hair,  smiled  a  good  deal,  had  a  silvery  little  laugh,  and  a 
beautiful  white  hand.  Her  trim,  graceful  figure  was  very  small, 
almost  fairy-like.  She  knew  any  amount  of  songs,  and  taught 
them  to  her  attentive  quartette  ;  she  was  skillful  with  the  pencil, 
and  we  all  learned  to  draw  ;  though  Mary  and  I,  especially  the 
former,  had  made  some  progress  in  this  branch  already.  Straight¬ 
way  I  fitted  up  some  ‘  ‘  sketch-boards,  ’  ’  tacking  stiff  white  cloth 
over  pieces  of  pine  planed  thin,  and  tacking  on  another  piece  of 
cloth,  with  one  side  open  for  our  paper,  pencils  and  rubber,  and 
out  we  went,  after  four  o’clock  p.  m.,  to  “  sketch  from  nature.” 
Of  these  sketches  no  extended  account  had  best  be  given,  but  all 
the  same  we  had  “  a  splendid  time.” 

Miss  Burdick  was  a  botanist,  and  knew  the  names  of  more 
flowers  than  we  who  had  lived  West  so  long.  She  taught  us  how 
to  “analyze,”  and  we  ransacked  woods  and  fields  to  bring  her 
1  ‘  specimens.  ’  ’  Miss  Burdick  could  recite  poetry  by  the  hour,  and 
we  gave  her  no  rest  until  she  had  told  us  all  she  knew  of  Walter 
Scott,  Wordsworth,  Cowper,  and  the  rest.  She  told  us  of  the 
Hudson,  and  the  old  Knickerbockers,  of  Madam  Emma  Willard’s 
school,  of  Washington  Irving  and  his  Sunnyside  home,  of  the 
Catskills  and  Palisades,  and  the  great,  fascinating  city  beyond. 
To  her  I  used  to  talk  of  what  I  meant  to  be,  and  the  cheery, 
responsive  words  of  my  teacher  were  a  delight.  Miss  Burdick 
encouraged  me  to  write,  corrected  my  compositions  carefully,  re¬ 
hearsed  me  on  “The  Downfall  of  Poland,”  which  was  my  favorite 
“piece,”  and  chilled  no  tender  bud  of  aspiration  in  my  heart. 

One  of  my  duties  was  to  ‘  ‘  keep  the  observations,  ’  ’  and  Miss 
Burdick  helped  me  in  this.  Father  had  agreed  to  be  one  of  the 
fact-gatherers  for  the  Smithsonian  Institution  at  Washington, 
which  sent  out  to  trusty  persons  all  over  the  country  instructions 
for  studying  the  weather.  They  were  to  notice  three  times  a 
day  the  direction  of  the  wind,  the  indications  of  thermometer, 
barometer  and  rain-gauge,  shape  of  the  clouds,  etc.,  and  once  a 
month  fill  out  a  blank  report,  giving  all  these  particulars.  Father 
was  so  often  absent  in  town  or  at  the  Institute  for  the  Blind, 
that  these  observations  had  to  be  left  in  other  hands.  The 
“Signal  Service”  that  has  its  bulletin  in  every  morning  paper 
and  postoffice  nowadays,  and  which  is  so  great  a  help  to  the  pub- 


A  Real  School-house . 


79 


lie  in  many  ways,  was  built  upon  the  foundation  laid  by  these 
observers.  I  learned  many  valuable  lessons  in  this  work  when  I 
was  but  a  girl,  as  I  studied  the  clouds  and  found  out  which  were 
“cirrus,”  “cirro-stratus,”  “nimbus,”  “cumulus,”  and  so  on. 

We  had  winds  on  those  prairies,  sometimes,  that  came  so 
near  carrying  off  the  house  that  father  sat  with  Mary  in  his 
arms,  I  hid  my  face,  as  usual,  in  mother’s  lap,  and  all  expected 
to  be  blown  away.  But  though  we  had  several  terrific  visita¬ 
tions  of  this  sort,  no  harm  ever  reached  any  of  us.  Oliver  used  to 
say  he  believed  the  ‘  ‘  Prince  of  the  Power  of  the  Air  ’  ’  got  up 
those  storms,  and  he  did  n’t  think  it  was  fair  to  “  lay  them  to  the 
Lord.” 

For  two  summers  Miss  Burdick  carried  on  her  institution 
of  four  pupils,  the  second  summer  a  few  more  coming  in,  and 
gave  an  elaborate  “  Exhibition”  at  the  close,  which  seemed  as 
great  to  us  as  the  ‘  ‘  Commencement  Exercises  ’  ’  of  the  college 
where  some  of  us  graduated  in  1858-59. 

Father  and  Mr.  Inman  now  bestirred  themselves,  for  their 
daughters’  sake,  and  a  little  school-house,  belonging  to  the  dis¬ 
trict,  was  built  about  a  mile  away.  It  was  plain  and  inviting, 
that  little  bit  of  a  building,  standing  under  the  trees  on  the  river 
bank.  No  paint  has  ever  brightened  it,  outside  or  in,  from  that 
day  to  the  present.  It  looks  like  a  natural  growth  ;  like  a  sort  of 
big  ground-nut.  Inside,  the  pine  desks  were  ranged  around  the 
wall,  boys  on  one  side,  girls  on  the  other,  a  slight  platform  with 
rude  desk  taking  up  the  end  nearest  the  door.  But  this  school- 
house  was  a  wonder  in  our  eyes,  a  temple  of  learning,  a  tele¬ 
scope  through  which  we  were  to  take  our  first  real  peep  at  the 
world  outside  of  home. 

It  was  too  far  from  “  Fort  City”  for  our  “make-believes”  . 
to  include  it,  and  as  we  grew  older  we  took  life  more  as  it  really 
was,  because  there  was  so  much  more  of  it  to  take.  I  was  about 
fourteen  wdien  the  new  school-house  was  built,  and  I  regarded 
it  as  the  great  event  of  my  life  that  I  was  now,  at  least,  to  become 
really  ‘  ‘  a  scholar,  ’  ’  go  outside  my  own  home  and  be  ‘  ‘  thrown 
upon  my  own  resources,”  as  father  wisely  called  it.  Miss  Bur¬ 
dick’s  had  been  a  sort  of  “play  school,”  after  all,  for  she  was  so 
young  herself  and  made  such  a  companion  of  me  that  the  teacher 
had  been  lost  in  the  friend. 


8o 


Life  by  Rule. 


Miss  Burdick  had  listened  to  all  the  imaginings  of  which  my 
head  was  full,  about  what  I  was  to  be  and  to  do  in  the  world — 
for  I  was  fully  persuaded  in  my  own  mind  that  something  quite 
out  of  the  common  lot  awaited  me  in  the  future  ;  indeed,  I  was 
wont  to  tell  this  dear  teacher  that  I  ‘  ‘  was  born  to  a  fate.  ’  *  Women 
were  allowed  to  do  so  few  things  then,  that  my  ideas  were  quite 
vague  as  to  the  what  and  the  why,  but  I  knew  that  I  wanted  to 
write,  and  that  I  would  speak  in  public  if  I  dared, — though  I 
did  n’t  say  this  last,  not  even  to  mother.  And  now  here  was  to 
be  a  real  school  and  a  real,  live  graduate  of  Yale  College  was  to 
be  the  teacher.  Mr.  Hodge  became  “Professor”  to  us  chil¬ 
dren-  he  had  been  Tutor  Hodge  at  Oberlin  College — and  we 
were  eager  for  the  intellectual  fray. 

“There  will  be  lots  of  rules,”  remarked  Oliver,  wisely,  the 
evening  before  school  was  to  begin.  He  was  at  home  for  a  brief 
vacation,  and  used  many  big  words,  among  others,  unique, 
which,  just  for  fun,  he  pronounced  in  three  syllables,  and  the 
example  was  followed  by  me,  who  gravely  took  up  his  methods 
as  my  standards. 

“  What  if  there  are  lots  o’  rules  ?  ”  piped  sweet-toned  Mary, 
“  we  sha’n’t  break  them,  as  some  college  boys  do.” 

“  No,  indeed,”  said  I  ;  “it  will  be  a  pleasant  change  to  us 
to  have  some  rules  and  live  up  to  them.” 

‘  ‘  Do  you  mean  to  'say  I  have  given  you  none  all  these 
years  ?  ’  ’  asked  mother,  looking  up  from  her  sewing. 

“  Well,  you’ve  had  mighty  few,  mother,  I  can  tell  you  that  ” 
said  Oliver. 

“  But  we  had  to  mind,  you  know,”  chimed  Mary. 

“  Yes,  and  we  had  a  mind  to,”  I  declared. 

“That  may  all  be,  Miss  Biddlecome,”  replied  my  brother, 
who,  with  father,  often  called  me  by  this  odd  name,  “but  when 
it  comes  to  sitting  beside  your  favorite  Kffie  and  never  speaking 
a  loud  word  for  six  hours  per  day,  you  won’t  enjoy  it.  A  girl 
that  has  played  Jehu  to  calves,  reapers  and  plow-beams  as  long 
as  you  have,  won’t  take  kindly  to  sitting  still  all  day,  either, 
and  I  prophesy  there’ll  be  a  riot,  a  rumpus,  a  row  before  the 
month  is  out.” 

“Wait  till  you  see,”  I  responded,  with  a  vim,  and  the 
discussion  ended. 


“  Advantages  Like  Other  People.  ”  81 

It  was  a  cold  winter  morning  when  school  opened.  We  two 
girls  had  risen  long  before  light,  because  we  could  n’t  sleep,  and 
packed  our  little  tin  dinner-pail  with  bread  and  butter,  apples, 
and  some  of  mother’s  “fried  cakes  ’’ — which  had  already  won  a 
reputation  that  has  since  expanded  into  fame.  We  emptied  her 
old  satchel  that  we  might  stuff  it  out  with  school-books  ;  filled 
our  inkstand,  and  made  all  our  small  preparations,  wondering  if 
it  wrould  ever  be  daylight,  and  if  nine  o’clock  A.  m.  would  ever 
come.  We  hardly  tasted  our  breakfast,  and  were  so  uneasy  that 
long  before  the  time  Loren  yoked  the  big  oxen  to  the  long  “  bob¬ 
sled,’’  and  he  and  Oliver  carried  us  to  school.  The  doors  were 
not  yet  open,  so  we  sent  to  Professor  Hodge’s,  which  was  near 
by,  got  the  key,  made  the  fire,  and  were  the  first  to  take  poses- 
sion.  Loren  stayed  as  a  scholar,  looking  as  if  he  did  not  like  the 
bargain.  Oliver  cracked  the  whip  and  “  geed  up”  the  oxen, 
saying,  “Well,  I  hope  you’ll  enjoy  what  you’ve  got  yourselves 
into  and  I  shouted,  “  We’ve  got  a  Yale  graduate  to  teach  us, 
and  Beloit  can’t  beat  that.” 

Professor  Hodge’s  children  were  out  in  force,  and  made  up 
the  majority.  Effie  and  Mattie  Inman  were  there,  Pat  O’ Don¬ 
ahue  and  his  sisters,  from  two  miles  over  the  prairie,  and  a  few 
others.  Loren  was  the  big  boy  of  the  school,  and  behaved  like  a 
patriarch.  Jamie  Hodge  had  already  asked  to  have  his  lessons 
measured  off,  had  selected  a  desk  with  his  brother  John,  and  be¬ 
fore  the  hour  for  school  had  arrived  he  was  studying  away  like  a 
sage.  Rupert  Hodge,  a  blithe  little  fellow,  was  coasting  down 
the  hill  with  his  sisters  Annie  and  “  Tottie,”  while  Fred  and 
Charley  Hovey,  new-comers  and  cousins  of  the  Hodges,  looked 
like  little  bread-and-butter  cherubs  with  their  red  cheeks  and 
flaxen  hair.  At  last  Professor  Hodge  appeared,  in  his  long-tailed, 
blue  coat  with  brass  buttons,  carrying  an  armful  of  school-books 
and  a  dinner-bell  in  his  hand.  He  stood  on  the  steps  and  rang 
that  bell  long,  loud  and  merrily.  My  heart  bounded,  as  I  said, 
inside  of  it,  so  that  nobody  heard,  “At  last  we  are  going  to 
school  all  by  ourselves,  Mary  and  I,  and  are  going  to  ‘have  ad¬ 
vantages’  like  other  folks,  just  as  mother  said  we  should  !  O 
goody — goody — goody  !  ” 

Professor  Hodge  stepped  upon  the  rough  little  platform, 
opened  his  pocket  Testament  and  read  the  first  chapter  of  Mark  ; 

6 


82 


“  God  Speed  the  Rights 


we  sang  “Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul,”  and  then  every  head  was 
reverently  bowed,  while  in  the  simplest  language  the  good  man 
asked  God’s  blessing  on  the  children  and  their  homes,  on  their 
lessons  and  their  companionship  as  scholars.  He  was  a  tall  man, 
with  strong  frame,  large  head  covered  with  bushy  hair,  piercing 
blue  eyes,  pleasant  smile,  and  deep,  melodious  voice.  Accus¬ 
tomed  to  teach  men,  he  bent  himself  gently  to  the  task  of  point¬ 
ing  out  A  B  C’s  to  the  youngest  and  setting  copies  for  them  all. 
He  was  a  fine  reader  and  his  greatest  pleasure  seemed  to  be  when 
his  older  pupils  rendered  to  his  satisfaction  some  gem  from  the 
English  poets,  in  which  he  trained  us  carefully.  % 

He  was  of  English  birth,  and  his  first  names,  Nelson  Well¬ 
ington,  united  the  last  names  of  two  heroes  of  whom  he  liked  to 
talk.  He  was  patient  to  a  fault,  and  I  was  glad  that  in  my  math¬ 
ematics,  which  I  did  not  like,  one  so  considerate  took  my  difficult 
case  in  hand.  He  announced  no  rules,  offered  no  prizes,  but 
seemed  to  take  it  as  a  matter  of  course  that  we  would  all  “be¬ 
have.”  So  passed  the  day — our  first  in  the  old  school-house  we 
learned  to  love  in  spite  of — nay,  perhaps  the  better  because  of,  its 
ugliness.  We  had  about  four  months  of  study  with  Professor 
Hodge,  and  later  on,  in  the  same  place,  six  months  with  Mrs. 
Amelia  Hovey,  sister  to  Mrs.  Hodge.  This  teacher  was  a  delight 
to  us.  Her  bright  face,  sparkling  blue  eyes,  voice  full  of  rising 
inflections,  and  her  pride  and  pleasure  in  her  pupils,  made  school 
just  like  a  play-day.  She  was  a  charming  singer  and  we  de¬ 
lighted  in  her  favorite  song  : 

“Now  to  Heaven  our  prayer  ascending, 

God  speed  the  right ! 

In  a  noble  cause  contending, 

God  speed  the  right  ! 

Be  that  prayer  again  repeated, 

Ne’er  despairing,  though  defeated  ; 

Truth  our  cause,  what  e’er  delay  it, 

There’s  no  power  on  earth  can  stay  it, 

God  speed  the  right  ! 

Pain  nor  toil  nor  trial  heeding, 

And  in  Heaven’s  own  time  succeeding, 

God  speed  the  right !  ” 

These  words  used  to  ring  out  through  the  lonesome  little 
school-house  like  a  clarion  call,  while  our  teacher  stood  before  us 


A  Rude  Awakening.  83 

with  an  exaltation  in  her  face  that  gave  an  uplift  to  each  little 
heart  as  our  fresh  young  voices  sang, 

“  God  speed  the  right !  ” 

Mrs.  Hovey’s  sunny  nature  and  beautiful  spirit  of  hope  bent 
like  a  rainbow  above  those  happy  months  at  school,  while  her 
rare  aptness  to  teach  brought  us  on  at  railroad  speed  from  title 
page  to  ‘  ‘  finis  ”  of  a  half-score  of  knotty  text-books. 

There  was  but  one  blur  upon  the  pages  of  that  happy  time. 
One  scholar,  who  has  not  before  been  mentioned,  a  girl  older  than 
I,  said  to  me  at  recess,  “You  are  the  most  ignorant  girl  I  ever 
saw.  I  don’t  know  what  to  make  of  it.  Come  with  me  around 
the  corner  of  the  school-house  where  no  one  will  hear,  and  I  will 
tell  you  things  that  will  make  your  eyes  open  bigger  than  ever.” 
Nothing  could  have  vexed  me  more  than  to  be  called  “  ignorant,” 
and  nothing  could  have  roused  my  interest  like  the  chance  to  get 
that  ignorance  cured.  “To  know  ”  had  been  my  life’s  greatest 
desire  from  the  beginning.  I  had  carried  a  great  many  curious 
questions  to  my  mother,  such  as  every  thoughtful  child  is  sure 
to  ask,  and  ask  right  early,  too.  The  reply  had  always  been, 
“  Come  to  me  when  you  are  fifteen  years  old  and  I  will  tell  you. 
You  would  not  understand  me  now,  if  I  should  try  to  tell.” 

And  here  was  this  girl,  a  new  scholar,  who  was  laughing  at 
me  because  I  could  not  answer  the  very  same  questions — for  she 
asked  them  as  soon  as  she  and  I  were  alone.  Then  she  went  011 
to  answer  them  with  illustrations  and  anecdotes,  riddles,  puns  and 
jokes,  using  many  words  that  had  to  be  explained  to  me,  who  had 
never  heard  their  like  before.  My  brother  Oliver  was  a  boy  so 
wholesome  and  delicate  that  he  had  almost  never  said  a  word  my 
mother  did  not  know,  and  this  strange  vocabulary  amazed  and 
disconcerted  me.  I  never  talked  with  this  coarse  girl  again  upon 
these  subjects,  but  afterward  I  felt  so  sorry  to  have  talked  at  all. 
It  was  a  rude  awakening,  one  that  comes  to  many  a  dear  little 
innocent  of  not  half  my  years,  and  is  morally  certain  to  come 
if  a  child  goes  to  school  at  all.  But  it  is  inevitable  that  children 
should  go  and  be  brought  up  with  other  children,  only  the  mother 
at  home  ought,  I  think,  to  take  her  little  one  into  a  very  tender 
and  sacred  confidence,  and  in  true,  pure  and  loving  words  reply 
to  every  question  the  thoughtful  little  mind  can  ask.  A  boy  and 


84 


School  Incidents. 


his  mother,  a  girl  and  her  mother,  may,  and  ought  to  speak  of 
anything  that  God  has  made.  The  “  works  of  darkness”  are 
evil  ;  the  secret  words,  the  deeds  previous  to  which  some  one  says, 
“But  you  must  never  tell  ” — these  are  wicked  and  dangerous. 
Dear  fathers  and  mothers  who  read  between  these  lines,  let  me  beg 
you  to  forewarn  your  little  ones,  and  to  tell  them,  upon  the  high 
level  of  your  own  pure  thoughts  and  lives,  what  they  are  certain 
to  learn  sooner  than  you  think,  when  they  go  with  other  children. 
There  will  always  be  some  one  to  teach  them  naughty  words  and 
deeds,  unless  your  lessons  have  come  first.  Happily  for  me,  I 
was  too  well  established  before  I  heard  these  things  to  get  harm 
out  of  them,  but  not  one  home  in  a  thousand  is  so  isolated  as  was 
mine.  Besides,  think  of  the  pain  and  sense  of  loss  that  came  to 
me  from  that  one  miserable  interview  ! 

Louise  Alden  was  a  friend  made  at  this  school,  and  greatly 
valued  by  us,  especially  by  Mary,  who  was  of  nearly  the  same 
age.  Our  coasting  down  the  hill  was  wonderful  to  see  ;  our  fish¬ 
ing  with  a  crooked  pin,  small  bait  and  less  fish,  in  the  mellow¬ 
voiced  river ;  our  climbing  trees  for  toothsome  hickory-nuts, 
beating  the  bush  for  mealy  hazel-nuts,  and  scouring  the  pastures 
for  sweet-smelling  plums  that  grew  wild  ;  our  play-houses,  with 
dishes  moulded  from  clay  in  my  “china  manufactory,”  and  dolls 
for  which  I  declined  to  make  clothes  —  are  not  all  these  written 
in  memory’s  “book  of  chronicles”?  What  times  we  used  to 
have  on  “composition  day,”  and  at  the  “spelling  school”  on 
Friday  afternoon,  when  I  was  at  the  head  on  one  side  and  Effie 
on  the  other,  or  Pat  O’ Donahue  and  Johnny  Hodge  marshaled 
the  forces.  We  “toed  the  line,”  and  “went  up  head,”  and 
“spelled  down,”  after  the  approved,  old-fashioned  style.  Mother 
and  Mrs.  Hodge  were  “company”  on  such  occasions,  and  were 
escorted  to  platform  seats  with  much  decorum  by  my  sister.  As 
school  was  so  far  away  we  stayed  from  9  A.  m.  to  4  p.  m.,  and 
made  much  of  our  dinners,  setting  them  out  on  the  teacher’s  desk 
and  sharing  our  wholesome  food  with  many  a  cheery  speech  and 
laughing  reply  as  the  noon  hour,  all  too  short,  sped  away.  But, 
most  of  all,  we  were  diligent  to  learn,  for  we  were  behind  other 
scholars  of  our  years,  and  were  afraid,  as  we  almost  daily  told 
our  mother,  that  our  “  smart  cousins  down  in  York  State  would 
get  so  far  ahead  that  we  never  could  catch  up.” 


Oliver's  Forward  Step. 


85 


Later,  our  family  spent  one  winter  in  Janesville  and  we  went 
to  Mrs.  Fonda’s  “Select  School,”  where  I  especially  doted  on 
Cutler's  Physiology,  and  proudly  took  turns  at  editing  the  school 
paper,  while  Mary  drew  maps  so  well  as  to  astonish  the  natives, 
and  painted  in  water-colors  after  school.  Here  our  Aunt  Sarah 
and  Cousin  Morilla,  both  teachers  in  Catharine  Beecher’s  and 
Miss  Mary  Mortimer’s  “  Female  College  ”  at  Milwaukee,  came 
to  spend  the  holidays,  and  their  wise  and  bookish  conversation 
was  a  delight  beyond  words  to  us.  Here  we  heard  “Elder 
Knapp,”  the  great  revivalist,  preach  in  the  Baptist  Church  and 
our  hearts  were  deeply  exercised,  but  we  did  not  come  out  as 
Christians.  Still  it  never  entered  our  minds  not  to  pray,  but  the 
sweet  and  simple  “  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,”  quieted  our 
young  hearts  at  night,  and  every  morning  father’s  prayer  found 
an  echo  in  our  own.  But  Oliver,  always  ready  for  every  good 
word  and  work,  went  to  the  front  with  his  beloved  school-mate, 
William  Henry  Brace,  the  two  boys  yielding  at  once  to  mother’s 
gentle  invitation  to  “come  out  boldly  on  the  Lord’s  side.” 
Indeed,  Oliver  had  been  converted  at  twelve  years  of  age,  just 
before  we  left  Oberlin,  and  later  on  he  was  immersed  in  our  own 
Rock  River  and  joined  the  church  ‘  ‘  on  probation.  ’  ’  When  father 
went  to  the  legislature  at  Madison,  leaving  the  farm  folks  pretty 
lonesome,  little  Mary  was  sent  by  her  brother  and  sister,  to  say  to 
their  mother  that  they  intended  to  be  Christians  all  the  while  pa 
was  gone,  and  not  make  her  any  trouble,  and  they  thought  it 
would  comfort  her  to  know  it.  “  And  I  do,  too,”  added  the  dear, 
chubby-faced  girl,  who  was  not  only  born  “  a  Sunday  child,”  but 
always  seemed  to  stay  so. 

Our  episodes  of  school  included  a  month  or  so  of  outing  at 
the  summer  home  of  Rev.  and  Mrs.  Peleg  S.  Whitman,  accom¬ 
plished  Southerners,  who  had  driven  all  the  way  from  Georgia  to 
Wisconsin  in  their  own  carriage  on  a  health  excursion.  They 
were  both  teachers,  having  a  ladies’  school  at  home,  and  father 
meeting  them  at  Janesville,  invited  them  to  spend  some  time  at 
Forest  Home,  and  bought  an  elegant  piano  of  their  selection, 
that  Mrs.  Whitman’s  masterly  musical  gifts  and  teaching  might 
be  enjoyed  by  his  daughters.  We  had  been  taking  music  lessons 
for  years  from  the  teachers  at  the  Wisconsin  Institute  for  the 
Blind,  a  mile  away,  and  were  quite  well  advanced,  but  played 


86 


First  Flight. 


only  on  the  melodeon.  My  love  for  this  instrument  was  so  un¬ 
bounded  that  when  the  piano  was  brought  home  I  evinced  but 
little  pleasure  and  turned  to  my  old  pet  so  steadily  that  father 
saw  no  way  but  to  sell  it,  which  he  did.  When  it  was  being 
boxed  to  be  carried  out  of  the  house,  mother  found  us  two  girls 
kissing  the  sweet-voiced  old  melodeon  good-by,  almost  with  tears. 

From  that  time,  although  I  still  had  lessons,  I  felt  small 
interest  in  the  study  of  music,  but  Mary’s  dainty  hands  took 
kindly  to  the  piano,  and  she  swiftly  passed  her  sister,  whose 
knowledge  of  “thorough  bass”  had  been  her  despair  until  the 
instrument  of  wind  and  reeds  gave  place  to  the  twanging  wires 
and  mysterious  pedals  of  the  piano.  But  when  Mrs.  Whitman 
sang  some  sweet  Scotch  ballad,  or  our  favorite  “Once  more  at 
home,”  to  its  accompaniment,  I  was  almost  as  much  delighted 
as  my  sister,  and  when  she  struck  the  martial  notes  of  the  “  Bat¬ 
tle  of  Prague  ”  we,  like  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  “had  no  more  spirit 
in  us  ”  for  very  wonder.  I  was  passionately  fond  of  martial 
music,  but  when  Mrs.  Whitman  rendered  the  cries  of  the 
wounded  and  dying,  both  of  us,  to  whom  scenes  of  sorrow  were 
unknown,  wanted  to  “put  our  heads  in  mother’s  lap  and  cry.” 

Mrs.  Whitman  was  a  French  scholar,  and  we  were  eager 
to  learn,  so  it  was  agreed  that  we  might  go  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Whitman  for  a  few  weeks’  study. 

‘  ‘  Let  our  birds  try  their  wings  a  little  before  they  fly  far 
from  the  old  home-nest,”  said  father,  who  dearly  loved  to  have 
us  run  to  meet  him  when  he  came  home  from  town,  delighted 
himself  with  our  singing,  and  was  grieved  to  the  heart  at  the 
thought  that  we  must  sometime  leave  him.  So  the  greatest  event 
of  all  our  lives,  thus  far,  was  going  six  miles  from  home,  to  stay 
with  the  Whitmans  in  their  pleasant  rural  retreat,  and  for  the 
first  time  to  spend  a  night  out  from  under  the  old  home  roof. 
Father  carried  ns  over,  one  blithe  summer  day,  with  the  trunk . 
which  we  had  packed  so  carefully,  and  as  we  saw  him  drive 
away,  we  had  a  most  “all-overish  feeling  of  lonesomeness,”  as 
I  called  it,  while  Mary  actually  had  tears  in  her  sweet  blue  eyes. 

“For  shame,”  I  said  to  her  in  a  low  voice  ;  “  it’s.only  six 
miles  to  Forest  Home,  and  we  are  only  away  for  a  month.  Just 
think  how  much  more  we  shall  know  when  we  go  back.” 

“Yes,  but  I  want  ma  to  tuck  me  up  in  bed  and  kiss  me 


Novels  Forbidden.  87 

good-night,”  she  murmured,  her  red  lips  trembling  as  she  turned 
away. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Whitman  made  it  very  pleasant  for  us  with 
music,  reading  aloud,  and  a  drive  in  the  fields  now  and  then. 
Ollendorff’s  French  Method  was  placed  in  my  hands,  and  I  dili¬ 
gently  conned  those  oldest  of  all  questions,  “  Avez  vous  faimf 
Avez  vous  soif  f  ”  while  Mary  sketched  from  nature,  grieved  over 
English  grammar  and  rejoiced  to  practice  on  the  piano.  We  had 
never  read  novels,  and  stories  were  almost  unknown  to  us,  except 
the  lovely  story  of  ‘  ‘  Outdoors,  ’  ’  in  four  parts,  with  a  new  edition 
evety  year.  “  Pilgrim’s  Progress  ”  we  knew  almost  by  heart,  and 
Bible  histories  were  familiar — more  so  from  mother’s  lips  than 
by  our  own  reading,  though  we  had  regularly  ‘  ‘  read  the  Bible 
through  ’  ’  that  year,  at  the  rate  of  three  chapters  a  day  and  five 
on  Sunday,  and  received  the  promised  Bibles,  “  all  our  own,”  as 
a  reward.  Miss  Trumbull,  a  seamstress,  who  was  also  “a  char¬ 
acter,”  had  told  us  “  Children  of  the  Abbey  ”  and  “  Thaddeus  of 
Warsaw,  ’  ’  after  which  lengthened  dissipations  we  could  ‘  ‘  hardly 
sleep  a  wink” — the  first  loss  of  sleep  known  to  our  happy  and 
well-ordered  lives.  We  had  read  many  biographies  of  great  men 
and  much  of  the  best  in  English  poetry,  besides  Robert  Ramble’s 
‘‘Stories  of  Greece,”  and  Goldsmith’s  “  History  of  Rome.”  We 
knew  much  of  mythology,  but,  aside  from  “  The  Shoulder  Knot,  ’ 
“  Norman  Leslie,”  a  religious  romance,  and  a  few  hunting  stories, 
we  were  absolutely,  blessedly  ignorant  of  “novels.”  But  our 
gifted  teachers  were  readers  of  the  best  in  fiction,  and  here  I  found 
“Jane  Eyre,”  “  Shirley,”  and  “  Villette,”  those  wonderful  books 
by  the  lonesome-hearted  genius,  Charlotte  Bronte.  These  opened 
a  new  world,  and  to  one  less  anchored  to  mother  and  home  than 
I  was,  they  might  have  done  untold  mischief.  As  it  was,  I  read 
them  all  in  feverish  haste,  closing  with  “  Villette,  ”  in  the  midst 
of  which  I  was,  011  a  lovely  summer  evening  just  before  twilight, 
when  a  long  shadow  fell  across  the  threshold  where  I  was  sitting, 
unconscious  of  everything  about  me,  and  my  father’s  tall  form 
bent  over  me  ;  he  took  the  book  from  my  hand,  and  as  he  saw 
the  flush  on  my  cheeks  his  brow  was  clouded. 

“  Never  let  my  daughter  see  that  book  again,  if  you  please, 
madam,”  he  said  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  who,  not  knowing 
his  rules,  had  hardly  noted  my  proceedings  ;  the  book  was 


88  Rays  from  the  Past. 

p 

taken  from  me,  and  to  this  day  I  have  never  finished  reading 
“  Villette.” 

Of  course  I  did  not  like  this  then,  and  was  angry  with  my 
father,  although  I  did  not  dare  to  say  so.  But  I  learned  as  years 
passed  on  how  much  I  owed  to  the  firm  hand  that  held  my 
impetuous  nature  from  a  too  early  knowledge  of  the  unreal  world 
of  romance.  Thanks  to  parental  wisdom,  I  passed  my  childhood 
and  my  early  girlhood  in  perfect  quietness,  simplicity  and  the 
holiness  of  nature’s  company. 

But  with  the  autumn  these  genial  Southern  friends  flitted 
away  to  their  beautiful  Georgia,  to  escape  the  chill  of  the  Wis¬ 
consin  climate,  and  we  went  home  enriched  by  their  words  of 
grace  and  graciousness,  and  instructed  by  their  polished  manners 
not  less  than  by  the  books  and  music  we  had  studied. 

We  still  published,  at  intervals,  the  Fort  City  Tribune ,  for 
which  mother  was  a  frequent  contributor,  giving  us  once  the 
following  bit  of  verse  she  had  composed  especially  for  our  paper, 
and  which  was  intended  to  afford  us  some  account  of  her  own 
childhood  in  her  beloved  Vermont : 

RAYS  FROM  THE  PAST. 

From  distant  years  a  gentle  light 
Is  ever  bright’ning  up  my  way  ; 

‘Twill  cheer  me  to  eternal  morn 
By  its  sweet  ray. 

’  Tis  from  life’s  dewy,  radiant  dawn, 

That  introduced  my  infant  day. 

From  that  sweet  Eden,  diamond-gemmed, 

Where  children  play. 

’  Tis  from  my  father’s  sheltered  home, 

That  calm  and  love-illumined  spot, 

Where  fragrant  incense  bathed  my  brow, 

Not  yet  forgot. 

’Tis  from  the  bright  and  purling  brook, 

And  from  the  towering  elm-tree’s  shade, 

And  from  the  pure  and  holy  joys 
For  young  life  made. 

’  Tis  from  the  thorny  brier  bush, 

With  ripe  and  tempting  raspberries  hung, 

Which  we  on  slender  threads  of  grass 
For  “  Teacher  ”  strung, 


89 


“  Wooden  Effigies.” 

To  dim  her  youthful  vision  bright, 

To  mystify  her  opening  mind, 

That  to  our  many  childish  faults 
She  might  be  blind. 

Dainty  reflections,  clear  and  bright, 

Still  gleam  from  the  delicious  past, 

Cheering  the  traveler  to  her  home— 

That  home,  her  last. 

« 

Oliver  brought  any  amount  of  books  from  college  and  read 
them  in  vacation.  He  was  now  too  much  of  a  young  man  to 
help  on  the  fortunes  of  Fort  City  any  longer.  The  Hodge  boys 
were  busy  with  the  farm,  Bridget  was  less  company  for  us  than 
of  old,  and  we  girls  turned  to  the  blind  pupils  at  the  Institute  as 
our  base  of  supplies.  We  had  a  music  teacher  from  there,  whom 
we  dearly  loved.  This  was  Mrs.  Eliza  King  Walls,  a  graduate 
of  the  New  York  Institute,  a  beautiful  woman  and  an  accom¬ 
plished  player.  It  was  an  event  when  she  came  to  give  the 
weekly  lessons,  for  she  entered  heartily  into  our  plans  and  was 
an  enthusiast  *as  to  our  musical  abilities.  Her  elder  sister,  Miss 
King,  often  came  with  her,  and  her  lovely  little  girl,  Mamie — 
the  first  ‘  ‘  wee  toddler  ’  ’  that  we  had  known.  I  thought  she 
was  “enough  better  than  a  stupid  doll,”- — indeed,  except  “Doll 
Anna,”  I  had  never  cared  for  these  “  wooden  effigies,”  as  I  called 
them,  but  gave  my  wax  doll  to  my  sister,  with  some  show  of 
generosity,  but  no  inward  sense  of  sacrifice. 

Mary  was  fond  of  every  breathing  creature — except  snakes, 
spiders  and  mosquitoes — and  she  liked  dolls  because  “  they  re¬ 
minded  her  of  humans,”  but  upon  little  Mamie  Walls  .she  lav¬ 
ished  her  rich  young  heart  in  a  manner  beautiful  to  see.  She 
brought  out  all  her  small  store  of  pretty  things  and  placed  them 
at  her  disposal ;  spread  a  “  playing  place  ’’  for  her  on  a  big  shawl 
under  her  favorite  tree  ;  toyed  with  her  soft  curls,  hugged  her 
tenderly,  and  even  counted  the  days  till  her  next  music  lesson, 
chiefly  because  “  Mamie  would  come  again.” 

But  much  as  I  loved  Mrs.  Walls  and  her  baby,  my  favorite 
teacher  was  Mr.  Frank  Campbell — since  then  a  well-known  Eon- 
don  musician,  and  famous  as  the  only  blind  man  who  ever  climbed 
Mt.  Blanc  ;  this  he  did  to  prove  how  mind  may  triumph  over 
matter ;  his  son  walking  ahead,  and  he  setting  his  feet  in  the 


90 


Blind  Teachers  and  Friends. 


tracks  thus  made.  He  used  to  come  to  give  us  girls  our  lessons, 
over  the  rough  country  road,  with  its  ups  and  downs,  all  alone^ 
except  for  his  faithful  cane,  which,  we  declared,  “had  brains, 
could  almost  talk  and  ought  to  vote.” 

He  was  a  brilliant  pianist — could  play  any  piece  of  music,  no 
matter  how  difficult,  if  but  once  read  in  his  hearing,  and  was  a 
most  gifted  as  well  as  a  most  gentle-natured  man.  His  wife  was 
an  invalid,  and  I  thought  it  a  high  honor  when  I  was  permitted 
to  write  letters  for  him  and  to  sit  beside  the  sweet  little  lady  who 
was  so  often  ill.  The  other  teachers  at  the  Institute  were  fre¬ 
quent  guests  at  Forest  Home.  Mr.  P.  Fane,  of  Mississippi,  a 
blind  man  of  much  culture  and  strong  character,  was  Princi¬ 
pal,  and  a  great  friend  of  my  father.  Later  on,  Mr.  William  H. 
Churchman,  of  Indianapolis,  also  blind,  held  that  position.  He 
was  often  at  Forest  Home  and  was  so  fine  a  scholar  that  we  never 
grew  tired  of  listening  to  his  conversation  with  our  parents.  We 
had  been  taught  that  “  children  should  be  seen,  not  heard,”  and 
never  dreamed  of  speaking  in  the  presence  of  our  elders  unless 
spoken  to.  This  early  habit,  with  my  great  sensitiveness  and 
timidity,  made  me  the  shy  one  of  the  trio,  so  that  my  dread  of 
going  out  into  “  company  ”  was  extreme.  Oliver  and  Mary  used 
often  to  joke  me  about  this. 

Mr.  Churchman’s  daughter  Anna  was  about  my  age,  and 
was  the  most  accomplished  young  person  that  we  young  folks 
had  seen,  except  our  cousin,  Miss  Abby  Clement,  of  Vermont, 
who  had  come  West  with  her  father,  Rev.  Dr.  Jonathan  Clement, 
on  a  visit,  and,  spending  a  week  at  Forest  Home,  had  so  aston¬ 
ished  us  country  girls  by  her  knowledge  of  books  and  of  the 
world,  that  we  almost  despaired  of  “  ever  being  anybody,”  except 
as  our  ever  cheery  mother  laughed  at  our  fears.  I  used  to  think 
that  if  I  could  recite  Bryant’s  “  Thanatopsis  ”  and  Campbell’s 
“  Last  Man  ”  as  Abby  could,  I  would  ask  no  more  in  this  stage 
of  existence.  The  blind  girls,  too,  were  a  marvel  to  us  Forest 
Homers.  They  were  regular  “ lightning  calculators”  in  mental 
arithmetic  ;  they  could  read  the  raised  letters  in  the  great  books 
printed  for  them  ;  could  trace  with  delicate  finger-tips  all  the 
countries  on  the  raised  maps,  and  repeat  poetry  by  the  hour. 
They  were  not  a  bit  sorrowful  because  they  could  not  see,  but 
when  they  came  to  spend  an  afternoon  at  Forest  Home,  would 


An  Unspoken  “Why A 


9i 


propose  to  play  “Blind  Man’s  Buff,”  and  say,  merrily,  “You 
won’t  have  to  tie  a  handkerchief  over  our  eyes  ;  and  you’ll  know 
for  certain  that  we  won’t  cheat  by  taking  a  peep  on  the  sly.” 

From  these  experiences  we  learned  that  happiness  is  from 
within  ;  that  the  real  light  shines  in  the  heart,  not  in  the  eyes, 
and  that  everybody  who  will  be  glad,  may  be. 

At  one  time  Prof.  C.  B.  Woodruff  and  his  wife  had  charge  of 
the  “  Blind  Institute,”  as  it  was  oddly  called,  and  the  mathemat¬ 
ical  miracles  wrought  by  the  pupils  under  his  care,  disheartened 
at  least  one  of  mother’s  three  children  about  ever  “cutting  any 
figure  ”  in  that  line,  and  perhaps  made  me  the  more  determined 
to  excel  in  some  other  direction  since  I  was  so  outdone  in  this 
by  my  well-beloved  companions.  For  life  grew  less  lonely  as  the 
years  went  by  and  neighbors  were  more  numerous.  A  handsome 
German  gentleman  called  one  day  and  proposed  to  buy  a  slice  off. 
the  most  distant  part  of  the  old  farm.  He  was  Prof.  Gustave 
Knoepfel,  of  New  York,  since  well  known  as  an  accomplished 
organist.  He  wished  to  bring  his  old  father  and  mother  with  his 
many  brothers  and  sisters,  from  Germany  and  locate  them  in 
peace  and  quiet  in  the  “far  West,”  which  Wisconsin  then  was. 
His  father  was  a  Lutheran  minister  and  a  “  Herr  Professor,”  be¬ 
sides,  having  a  title  that  he  said  meant  “head  covered  with 
moss.”  Father  thought  these  would  be  good  neighbors  and  sold 
them  the  land.  The  young  professor  gave  music  lessons  to  us 
that  summer,  while  he  superintended  the  building  of  a  house  for 
the  family  that  was  to  come.  They  were  a  new  window  into 
the  great  world,  these  cultured  Germans  with  their  neat,  frugal 
ways,  pleasant  manners  and  many  accomplishments. 

But  I  noticed  that  the  learned  Doctor  did  not  seem  to  think 
so  much  of  his  girls  as  of  his  boys,  and  that  his  wife  had  no  such 
place  in  her  home  as  my  mother  had  in  hers.  Nor  did  the  boys 
treat  their  sisters  as  their  equals,  as  Oliver  did  his,  and  the 
Hodge  boys  theirs.  They  seemed  to  be  more  like  convenient 
drudges — good  to  have  about,  but  not  companions.  All  this 
touched  my  free  spirit  with  a  sense  of  pain  and  I  ‘  ‘  pondered 
much  why  these  things  were.” 

The  last  teacher  I  had  at  Forest  Home  was  mother’s  young¬ 
est  sister,  Miss  Sarah  B.  Hill.  She  had  gone  with  us  in  1841,  in 
the  large  caxry-qll,  from  Chyrchville,  to  Oberlin,  Ohio.  After 


02 


Au?it  Sarah. 


study  at  Oberlin  College  she  had  been  Preceptress  of  Riga  Acad¬ 
emy,  New  York,  and  Columbia  Female  College,  Tennessee.  Her 
fame  as  a  teacher  had  gone  out  far  and  wide,  and  we  thought 
nothing  could  ever  give  us  so  much  pleasure  as  to  see  “Aunt 
Sarah.’’  Our  own  dear  mother  had  taught  “eleven  summers  and 
seven  winters,  ”  as  we  had  often  heard  her  say  ;  but  here  was  a 
woman  who  had  been  a  teacher  all  her  life  long,  who  was  a 
mathematician,  an  historian,  a  mental  philosopher,  and  what-not, 
besides  !  She  was  to  come  from  Buffalo  to  Milwaukee,  ‘  ‘  around 
the  Lakes,”  and  then  by  cars  to  Janesville,  for  we  had  the  cars 
at  last,  and  the  screech  of  the  locomotive  sounded  as  we  thought 
the  voice  of  a  horrid  dragon  might  have  done. 

Father,  who  was  fond  of  a  secret,  had  tried  to  keep  this 
great  event  as  a  surprise,  but  in  hunting  his  pockets  for  the  latest 
newspapers  I  had  come  upon  my  aunt’s  letter  and  shown  it  to 
mother,  who  knew  all  about  the  matter,  but  counseled  silence  on 
the  children’s  part.  So  when  he  went  to  town  one  night, — a 
thing  he  almost  never  did  at  such  an  hour — advising  us  to  sit  up 
until  his  return,  which  was  exactly  opposite  to  his  general  coun¬ 
sel,  we  knew  very  well  what  it  meant.  The  usual  style  of  chil¬ 
dren,  whose  lives  are  so  brimful  of  happenings  that  they  have 
learned  to  take  almost  everything  as  a  matter  of  course,  can 
hardly  imagine  what  it  really  did  mean  to  us  to  have  Aunt  Sarah 
come  !  Here  we  had  lived  alone,  year  after  3^ear,  in  a  place  where 
most  people  would  have  thought  that  nothing  ever  happened  ; 
hardly  a  person  of  our  own  blood  had  we  seen  since  the  white- 
covered  wagons  started  from  Oberlin  so  long  ago  ;  letters  were 
now  and  then  exchanged,  to  be  sure,  but  each  letter  cost  twenty- 
five  cents,  hence  was  an  infrequent  luxury  ;  and  here,  at  last,  was 
coming  the  wonderful  woman  who  had  studied  many  books  and 
knew  the  world  !  Loren  declared  that  he  should  stay  at  the 
barn — he  did  n’t  dare  to  see  her.  Bridget  said  ‘  ‘  she  knew  enough 
of  great  people  to  lay  in  a  good  stock  o’  provisions  when  they 
was  cornin’  ’round”;  the  Hodge  children  and  Louise  said  there 
would  be  no  more  fun  and  they  wished  she  would  n’t  come,  and 
meanwhile  father  rejoiced  in  the  wonderful  surprise  he  had  in 
store  for  all  of  us  !  At  the  unheard-of  late  hour  of  ten,  whose 
clear  stroke  on  the  old  brass  clock  we  young  people  had  almost 
never  listened  to  before,  the  rumble  of  wheels  along  that  unfre- 


Our  Astronomy  Lessons. 


93 


quented  road  told  of  Aunt  Sarah’s  coming.  Loren  rushed  out  to 
take  care  of  the  team  and  Oliver  to  help  bring  in  the  trunk. 
Mother’s  calm  face  was  wonderfully  lighted  up  ;  how  lonely  she 
had  been  and  how  much  hard  work  she  had  done  since  she  saw 
her  sister  last  !  Candle  in  hand  she  stepped  out  on  the  piazza  ; 
a  tall  lad}^  in  a  handsome  blue  traveling  dress  threw  her  arms 
about  her  and  both  women  cried.  I  relieved  mother  of  the  light, 
father  and  Oliver  brought  in  the  trunk,  my  aunt  gave  me  a  hug 
and  took  sweet  Marv  on  her  knee. 

‘Well  !  for  country  folks  you  don’t  surprise  worth  a  cent, 

that’s  certain,”  said  my  father,  but  he  never  knew  how  much  we 

* 

knew,  meek-eyed  deceivers  that  we  were  ! 

It  took  but  a  short  time  to  get  acquainted.  Mary  said, 
“  Aunt  Sarah  is  so  much  like  mother  that  I’m  not  afraid  of  her.” 
Oliver  agreed  to  this,  and  so  did  I,  but  as  I  was  the  shy  one  of 
them  all,  I  was  on  my  good  behavior  longest.  But  Aunt  Sarah 
was  such  a  brave  and  sunny  spirit,  that  I  very  soon  ‘  ‘  thawed 
out,”  as  Oliver  laughingly  called  it,  and  became  a  walking  inter¬ 
rogation  point,  giving  my  aunt  no  rest  in  my  desire  to  learn  all 
about  the  people,  customs,  etc.,  which  the  “learned  lady  ”  had 
found  out  in  her  wide  experience.  Teaching  was  such  a  passion 
with  her,  that  in  a  few  days  she  had  me  studying  mathematics, 
derivation  of  English  words,  and  history,  while  Mary  listened  to 
these  recitations  and  took  another  set  better  suited  to  her  years. 
Aunt  Sarah  was  a  devout  Christian,  and  all  her  lessons  led  toward 
God.  The  Bible  was  one  of  her  text-books  in  astronomy,  and 
she  delighted  to  explain  its  references  to  the  Pleiades,  Arcturus, 
and  Orion.  She  was  very  clear  in  everything  she  taught.  Stand¬ 
ing  up  in  all  her  ample  proportions,  .she  said  one  day,  “  Now  I 
will  represent  the  sun  ;  Frank  shall  turn  round  and  round,  and 
so  turning  shall  also  go  in  a  circle  around  me,  and  while  she  does 
this,  Mary  must  move  slowly  around  her  ;  thus  Frank  will  repre¬ 
sent  the  daily  and  yearly  motions  of  the  earth,  and  Maty  of  its 
satellite.”  So  she  made  our  work  seem  play.  She  illustrated 
as  clearly,  the  tides,  the  zodiac,  precession  of  the  equinoxes 
and  many  other  points  usually  “skimmed  over,”  rather  than 
learned.  Meanwhile,  I  read  Dr.  Dick’s  “Christian  Philosopher” 
and  “  Future  State,”  and  was  so  wrought  upon  that  when  I  had 
to  help  get  dinner  one  Sunday,  I  fairly  cried.  “To  come  down 


94 


Milwaukee  Female  College. 


to  frying  onions  when  I’ve  been  away  among  the  rings  of  Saturn, 
is  a  little  too  much  !  ”  I  said,  impatiently.  Poor  ignorant  child  ! 
I  had  not  yet  learned  that 

“  To  sweep  a  room  as  for  God’s  laws, 

Makes  that  and  the  action  fine.” 

At  the  end  of  a  delightful  winter’s  training  under  our  aunt, 
with  whom  we  afterward  spent  (before  leaving  Forest  Home)  a 
term  at  the  Milwaukee  Female  College,  where  she  was  Professor 
of  History,  we  girls  had  the  sorrow  of  seeing  her  go  away  to  her 
home  at  the  East.*  After  twenty  years  devoted  to  teaching, 
almost  wholly  in  the  college  grades,  this  dear  aunt  married  Mr. 
Ward  Hall  in  1862  and  lives  near  the  old  home  in  Church- 
ville,  N.  Y. 

In  the  spring  of  1857,  when  I  was  seventeen,  our  parents 
sent  us  to  Milwaukee  because  Aunt  Sarah  was  then  one  of  the 
leading  teachers  there,  and  they  had  entire  confidence  in  our  well¬ 
being  when  we  were  with  her.  WTe  boarded  in  the  home  of  Dr. 
M.  P.  Hanson,  for  so  many  years  the  Dr.  Dio  Lewis  of  Milwaukee, 
and  found  its  Christian  atmosphere  was  like  that  of  our  own 
father’s  house.  Miss  Mary  Mortimer,  the  Principal,  was  absent 
from  the  college  011  leave,  and  I  have  always  regretted  missing 
the  contact  of  a  pupil  with  that  great,  philosophic  soul.  The 
Misses  Mary  and  Carrie  Chapin,  and  Miss  H.  Huntington,  all 
accomplished  New  England  teachers,  had  us  in  hand. 

The  college  was  Congregational  in  leadership,  though  really 
unsectarian.  We  went  with  our  aunt  to  Plymouth  Church  where 
I  greatly  enjoyed  the  preaching  of  Rev.  Dr.  Z.  M.  Humphrey, 
and  the  Bible  class  conducted  by  his  accomplished  wife. 

I  was  never  in  an  institution  where  the  moral  atmosphere  was 
so  clear  and  invigorating  as  that  of  the  Milwaukee  Female  College. 
We  used  to  sit  in  the  great  study  hall  without  a  teacher  present, 
and  any  girl  who  would  have  misbehaved  or  laughed  or  whispered 
would  have  been  looked  upon  as  beneath  contempt.  We  were  all 
“upon  honor,” — the  teachers  trusted  us.  I  remember  on  the 
first  day,  I  went  to  my  class  in  geology,  and,  not  knowing  that 
it  was  against  the  rule,  I  spoke  to  a  classmate  about  the  lesson 
as  wTe  were  climbing  the  stairs  toward  our  teacher,  and  entirely 


♦Two  of  Miss  Hill’s  visits  are  here  included  in  one. 


School  Honors. 


95 


away  from  supervision  ;  my  school-mate  looked  at  me  brightly 
and  kindly,  evidently  perceiving  that  I  intended  no  harm,  and 
laid  her  taper  finger  on  her  sweet,  shy  lips.  I  could  not  forget 
in  a  thousand  years  the  majesty  of  the  occasion,  as  it  impressed 
my  mind,  the  sacred  sense  of  truth  it  gave  me  and  the  determina¬ 
tion  that  it  deepened  in  my  spirit  to  be  just  as  trusty  and  con¬ 
scientious  as  was  she. 

My  admiration  for  Marion  Wolcott,  daughter  of  Dr.  E.  B. 
Wolcott,  the  city’s  chief  physician,  was  beyond  words.  Immac¬ 
ulate  in  character,  conduct  and  scholarship,  I  set  her  up  as  my 
standard  at  once,  and  never  rested  until,  like  her,  I  heard  “Ten, 
Ten,”  meaning  “perfect  in  punctuality,  behavior  and  lessons,” 
read  out  each  week  after  my  name. 

My  diligence  in  study  was  so  great  that  Aunt  Sarah  feared 
for  my  health.  Each  evening  I  rehearsed  to  her  the  lessons  of 
the  coming  day  or  wrote  on  my  forthcoming  “  composition.”  As 
an  intellectual  guide,  she  was  my  greatest  inspiration  ;  and  other 
pupils  felt  no  less  enthusiastic  over  this  “born  teacher  ”  and 
devoted  Christian. 

Our  history  class  was  memorable.  This  was  her  favorite 
branch — in  teaching  it  she  was  thoroughly  individual,  making 
the  lesson  vivid,  even  to  the  dullest  mind.  Often  she  was  very 
humorous,  at  other  times  pathetic  even  to  tears,  as  she  depicted 
great  characters  and  achievements  vital  to  the  progress  of  hu¬ 
manity. 

The  “examination  day,”  just  previous  to  Commencement 
was  the  climax  of  all  that  I  had  known.  Our  “  middle  class,” 
was  seated  on  the  high  platform  of  the  great  study  hall.  My  aunt 
went  to  the  opposite  end,  and  in  her  clear  voice  called  out  the 
topics  by  number.  We  had  to  .speak  loud  enough  to  be  heard 
throughout  the  room,  or  she  would  not  allow  us  to  proceed. 
Mother  was  present  and  this  was  a  day  of  joy  to  her,  for  she  could 
see  how  hard  her  girls  had  worked.  I  had  an  essay  on  “  Original¬ 
ity  of  Thought  and  Action,”  also  a  little  poem,  “  Eightiug  the 
Lamps,”  written  on  a  sweet  evening  as  I  watched  from  my  win¬ 
dow  that  city  sight  to  me  so  novel.  This  was  read  by  my  friend, 
Anna  Barnes,  one  of  the  leading  pupils. 


96 


Lighting  the  Lamps. 


Sitting  by  my  window, 

On  a  summer  eve, 

List’ning  to  the  billow, 
List’ning  to  the  breeze  ; 
Dark  the  shadows  falling, 
Bright  the  stars  and  clear, 
Men  have  ceased  their  toiling, 
To  their  homes  draw  near ; 
Hear  the  drowrsy  beating 
Of  the  city’s  heart, 

As  the  hours  are  fleeting, 

And  ’tis  growing  dark. 


See!  a  light  is  gleaming 
Down  the  fading  street ! 

Ah  !  ’tis  brighter  beaming, 

Guiding  weary  feet. 

Wake  from  out  thy  dreaming! 

Wander  not  away  ! 

Soul  of  mine,  what  seeming 
For  this  night  of  May. 

Let  the  light  now  shining, 

Glist’ning  through  the  gloom, 

’Round  thee  gently  twining, 

Cause  thee  not  to  roam. 

But  notwithstanding  all  that  is  honestly  avowed  jn  the  fore¬ 
going  lines,  my  heart  ached  when  I  left  Milwaukee,  and  I  was 
downright  sorry  to  go  home. 

My  journal  of  the  last  days  reads  thus  : 

Milwaukee,  July  16,  1857. — Terrible  times  preparing  for  examination. 
I  have  studied  hard,  and  ought  to  do  well.  How  will  it  be  ?  I  pause  for  a 
reply.  Practiced  reading  my  composition  on  the  rostrum,  reviewed  my  his¬ 
tory,  geology  and  botany  for  examination  ;  meltingly  warm  ;  all  the  seats 
are  taken  out  of  the  school-room.  Father  and  mother  came  and  stayed  a 
few  moments  and  then  went  out  to  Mr.  Gifford’s.  Later. — Nice  times  thus 
far  ;  have  recited  botany,  geology  and  history.  Father  only  heard  me  in 
history  ;  mother,  in  everything. 

July  23. — Left  the  city  at  half-past  ten.  Felt  fully  as  bad  as  when  I  left 
home,  even  worse. 

It  seemed  as  if  I  had  here  found  “where  to  stand,”  and 
among  noble  mates.  Marion  Wolcott,  Belle  Flanders,  Fizzie 


Father  at  Evanston. 


97 


Wiley,  Susie  Bonnell,  Abby  Walton,  Dora  Smith — to  these  and 
other  leading  spirits  I  was  utterly  devoted,  and  most  of  all  to 
Marion.  It  was  the  greatest  grief  my  life  had  known  up  to  that 
time,  when  I  learned  that  my  father  had  determined  not  to  send 
us  back  again,  because  he  was  a  Methodist  and  preferred  a  school 
of  that  denomination.  This  being  settled,  we  importuned  the 
good  man  of  the  house  until  he  told  us  he  thought  more  favorably 
of  Evanston,  a  new  town  a  few  miles  north  of  Chicago,  than  of 
any  other  place.  We  had  read  in  our  church  paper,  The  North¬ 
western  Christian  Advocate,  that  this  was  to  be  the  Methodist 
Athens  of  the  West.  Dr.  Clark  Hinman,  newly-elected  president 
of  the  University,  had  spoken  before  the  Conference  in  our  own 
church,  Bishop  Morris  presiding — the  first  “  real,  live  Bishop  ” 
we  had  ever  seen,  and  reverenced  more  in  those  years  than  he 
would  be  in  these,  when  pew  and  pulpit  almost  meet. 

Our  cousin  Morilla  Hill  came  to  see  us  at  the  holidays, 
i857~58,  and  spoke  so  enthusiastically  of  Evanston,  its  present 
educational  advantages  and  its  assuredly  metropolitan  future, 
that  we  gave  up  our  dream  of  Oberlin  and  our  devotion  to  Mil¬ 
waukee,  and  one  day  in  early  spring  father  was  packed  off, 
by  the  combined  energies  of  wife  and  daughters,  to  ‘  ‘  spy  out 
the  land”  at  Evanston.  He  attended  the  closing  exercises  of 
the  term,  was  pleasantly  impressed  by  Prof,  and  Mrs.  Wm.  P. 
Jones,  the  united  head  of  the  school  family  ;  Miss  Euella  Clark, 
the  poet,  who  had  the  literature  department ;  Miss  Lydia  Hayes, 
teacher  of  mathematics ;  Miss  Baldwin,  Miss  Dickinson,  and 
various  other  leading  lights  of  the  Ladies’  College.  So  he  brought 
home  a  good  report,  and  we  girls  sang  and  shouted  in  glee  ;  the 
spell  was  broken,  the  great  world-voices  charmed  our  youthful 
ears,  so  long  contented  with  the  song  of  zephyrs  among  the  tas- 
seled  corn,  or  winds  in  the  tall  tree-tops  that  sheltered  our  sacred 
altar  fires  ;  our  country  life  was  ended,  and  forever  ended,  except 
that  on  our  return  from  four  months  at  Evanston,  I  taught  a 
summer  term  in  the  ‘‘old  school-house,”  in  which  Mary  did  the 
“art  department,”  and  our  old  playmates  gathered  in  “for 
fun,”  while  six  delightful  weeks  proved  that  we  could  have  our 
good  times  all  the  same,  and  yet  be  doing  good  to  somebody. 

The  first  sorrows  that  came  into  our  girlish  lives  were  caused 

by  the  departure  from  this  world  of  our  gifted,  fine-souled  cousin, 
7 


Northwestern  Female  College. 


98 

/ 

Charlotte  Gilman,  and  our  thoughtful,  gentle  playmate,  “  Rever¬ 
end  Jamie.  ”  “  Heaven’s  climate  must  be  more  like  home  to  them 

than  ours,”  said  lovely  Mary,  herself  so  soon  to  follow.  Life  took 
a  serious  color  from  the  loss  of  these  sweet  souls,  and  Nature’s 
voices  had  thenceforth  a  minor  key  amid  their  joyfulness. 

Evanston,  twelve  miles  north  of  Chicago,  011  Lake  Michigan, 
was  founded  in  1854,  by  Dr.  (afterward  Governor.)  John  Evans, 
Orrington  Eunt,  and  other  leading  laymen  of  the  M.  E.  Church. 
Here  they  located  the  Northwestern  University  and  secured  a 
large  tract  of  land  for  its  endowment.  The  Garrett  Biblical  Insti¬ 
tute,  a  theological  school,  was  founded  here  also  by  Mrs.  Eliza 
Garrett,  of  Chicago.  But  the  school  which  most  interested  this 
father  of  young  women,  bent  on  their  higher  education,  was  the 
Northwestern  Female  College,  owned  and  managed  by  Prof. 
William  P.  Jones,  a  graduate  of  Alleghany  College,  and  his  wife, 
a  graduate  of  Mt.  Holyoke  Seminary.  This  was  the  only 
woman’s  college  of  high  grade  at  this  time  known.  Its  course  of 
study  was  almost  identical  with  that  of  its  neighbor,  the  Univer¬ 
sity,  and  its  advantages  were  of  a  high  order.  It  was  soon 
arranged  that  we  should  enter  the  College  which  was  to  become 
the  Alma  Mater  of  us  both. 


t* 


THE  MASTER'S  DESK. 


CHAPTER  II. 


% 


COLLEGE  DAYS. 

Here  comes  in  a  sketch  prepared  by  request  of  “  the  powers 
that  be  ”  by  my  schoolmate,  my  sister  Mary’s  classmate,  and  our 
beloved  sister-in-law,  Mary  Bannister  Willard.  Her  father  was 
Dr.  Bannister,  long  Principal  of  Cazenovia  Seminary,  N.  Y.,  and 
for  nearly  thirty  years  Professor  of  Hebrew  in  our  Theological 
Seminary  at  Evanston.  With  her  two  daughters,  Katharine  and 
Mary,  Mrs.  Willard  has  been  for  some  years  in  Berlin,  Germany, 
where  she  has  a  fine  Plome  School  for  American  girls  : 

None  of  the  pupils  who  attended  in  the  spring  term  of  1858 
will  fail  to  recall  the  impressions  made  by  two  young  girls  from 
Wisconsin  on  their  entrance  upon  this  new  school-life.  Mary, 
with  her  sweet,  delicate  face,  winning,  almost  confidential  man¬ 
ner,  and  earnest,  honest  purpose,  conquered  the  hearts  of  teachers 
and  pupils  at  once.  School  girls  are  a  conservative  body,  reserv¬ 
ing  favorable  judgment  till  beauty,  kindliness,  or  fine  scholarship 
compels  their  admiration.  Frances  was  at  first  thought  proud, 
haughty,  independent — all  cardinal  sins,  in  school-girl  codes. 
The  shyness  or  timidity  which  she  concealed  only  too  success¬ 
fully  under  a  mask  of  indifference,  gave  the  impression  that  she 
really  wished  to  stand  aloof  from  her  mates.  When  it  came  to 
recitations,  however,  all  shyness  and  apparent  indifference  melted 
away.  The  enthusiasm  for  knowledge  and  excellence  shone  from 
the  young  girl’s  face  on  all  these  occasions.  After  “class”  her 
schoolmates  gathered  in  groups  in  corridor  and  chapel,  and  dis¬ 
cussed  her  perforce  favorably.  “My!  can’t  she  recite?  Took 
out  for  your  laurels  now,  Kate!”  “The  new  girl  beats  us 
all,” — these  wTere  the  ejaculations  that  testified  of  honest  school¬ 
girl  opinion,  and  prophesied  her  speedy  and  sure  success. 

(99) 


; 


IOO 


A  Transition  Period . 


It  was  but  a  few  weeks  till  she  was  editor  of  the  College 
paper,  and  leader  of  all  the  intellectual  forces  among  the  students. 
She  was  in  no  sense,  however,  an  intellectual  “prig.”  None  of 
us  was  more  given  over  to  a  safe  kind  of  fun  and  frolic  ;  she  was 
an  inventor  of  sport,  and  her  ingenuity  devised  many  an  amuse¬ 
ment  which  was  not  all  amusement,  but  which  involved  consid¬ 
erable  exercise  of  wit  and  intelligence  —  and  our  beloved 
“  Professor  ”  soon  found  that  he  could  always  rely  upon  her  influ¬ 
ence  in  the  school  to  counteract  the  tendency  to  silly  escapades 
and  moonlight  walks  with  the  “  University  boys.”  A  young 
man  would  have  been  temerity  itself  who  would  have  suggested 
such  a  thing  to  her.  In  fact  she  came  to  be  something  of  a 
“  beau  ”  herself — a  certain  dashing  recklessness  about  her  having 
as  much  fascination  for  the  average  school-girl  as  if  she  had  been 
a  senior  in  the  University,  instead  of  the  carefully  dressed, 
neatly  gloved  young  lady  who  took  the  highest  credit  marks  in 
recitation,  but  was  known  in  the  privacy  of  one  or  two  of  the 
girls’  rooms  to  assume  the  “  airs  ”  of  a  bandit,  flourish  an  imag¬ 
inary  sword,  and  converse  in  a  daring,  slashing  way  supposed  to 
be  known  only  among  pirates  with  their  fellows.  If  one  of  those 
school-mates  had  been  called  upon  to  sum  up  in  a  sentence  a 
rough  estimate  of  her  friend  she  would  probably  at  this  period 
have  given  as  her  opinion,  “She’s  wild  with  the  girls  and  does  n’t 
care  a  snap  for  the  boys.”  % 

At  some  “grammar  party,”  or  sociable,  she  was  heard  to 
begin  a  conversation  with  one  of  these  “rejected  and  despised  ” 
individuals  with  the  very  7ioncliala7it  remark,  “  We  all  seem  to  be 
in  good  health,  the  company  is  pleasant  and  the  evening  a  fine 
one.  These  subjects  being  duly  disposed  of,  what  shall  we  talk 
about  ?  ’  ’  Rumor  had  it  ever  thereafter,  that  the  young  man  was 
so  bewildered  that  he  surrendered  his  heart  upon  the  spot. 

Her  teachers  at  this  time  were,  first  of  all,  “Professor,”* 
than  whom  it  would  seem  from  the  speech  of  those  days  and  the 
girls  of  that  time,  no  other  ever  existed.  He  was  the  moving 
spirit  within  all  the  wheels  ;  the  indomitable,  unconquerable  man 
whose  energy  and  perseverance  had  twice  built  the  college,  the 


*  Prof.  W.  P.  Jones,  already  mentioned  as  the  president  of  the  Northwestern  Female 
College,  died  in  the  summer  of  1886,  at  Fremont,  Neb.,  where  he  was  president  of  a  flour¬ 
ishing  normal  school  founded  by  himself. 


Swampscott. 


IOI 


last  time  after  a  disastrous  fire,  and  whose  faithful  devotion  to 
woman’s  higher  education  long  before  it  became  the  popular, 
fashionable  thing  it  is  to-day,  holds  all  his  former  pupils  in  rever¬ 
ent,  loving  admiration. 

Next  came  his  good,  true  wife,  greatly  beloved  by  the  stu¬ 
dents  and  a  most  conscientious  teacher.  One  of  the  deepest 
impressions  of  her  school  life,  Frances  often  says,  was  made  by 
the  tender  appeal  of  this  teacher-friend  urging  her  pupil  to  give 
heait  and  soul  to  God,  and  coming  to  her  room  and  kneeling  by 
her  side  to  pray  that  she  might  be  brought  to  the  point  of  yield¬ 
ing  herself  in  ‘  ‘  reasonable  service  ’ 7  to  Him  who  died  for  her. 

Miss  Mary  Dickinson,  of  Massachusetts,  a  women  of  queenly 
grace  and  dignity,  and  fine  abilities  as  an  instructor,  occupied  the 
Chair  of  Natural  Sciences  during  the  first  year,  and  Miss  Louise 
Baldwin  the  same  position  during  the  last  year  of  the  college 
course.  Miss  Luella  Clark,  loved  and  prized  no  less  for  her 
friendly  heart  and  beautiful  character,  than  for  her  poetic  soul, 
was  Professor  of  Literature  and  Philosophy,  and  general  confiden¬ 
tial  adviser  of  each  one  who  made  any  specialty  of  composition. 
Both  Professor  Jones  and  Miss  Clark  had  rare  ability  to  inspire 
the  literary  ambition  in  the  minds  of  their  pupils.  They  pos¬ 
sessed  high  ideals  themselves,  and  knew  how  to  place  these  so 
attractively  before  the  young  beginner,  that,  without  discourage¬ 
ment,  there  was  endless  dissatisfaction  with  crude  effort,  and  end¬ 
less  trying  for  better  things. 

In  the  vacation  summer  of  1858,  on  returning  from  Evanston 
Frank  (as  everybody  called  her)  took  possession  of  the  little 
school-house  near  Forest  Home,  and  for  six  weeks  carried  on 
the  school  herself,  with  great  comfort  and  pleasure.  Early  in 
the  autumn  the  Willard  family  removed  to  Evanston,  Tenants 
were  placed  in  charge  of  their  beloved  “  Forest  Home,”  and 
‘  ‘  Swampscott  ’  ’  became  their  residence — a  pleasant  place  near 
the  lake,  the  large  grounds  of  which  became  Mr.  Willard’s  pride 
and  pleasure,  as  he  saw  them,  under  his  skillful  management, 
growing  constantly  more  beautiful.  Nearly  every  tree  and  vine 
was  set  with  his  own  hands,  often  assisted  by  Frank,  and  all  were 
imported  from  Forest  Home. 

The  last  year  at  school  was  one  of  great  strain  for  Frank,  for 
she  carried  six  or  seven  studies,  and  twice  before  graduation  suf- 


102 


Valedictorian. 


fered  severe  illnesses,  interrupting  her  progress,  but  not  perma¬ 
nently  interfering  with  her  health.  One  of  these  occurred  at  the 
time  of  the  marriage  of  one  of  her  favorite  teachers,  Miss  Lillie 
Hayes,  to  the  Rev.  J.  W.  Waugh,  who  was  under  appointment  as 
a  missionary  of  the  Methodist  Church  to  India.  This  was  a  sore 
grief,  as  Frances  was  one  of  her  chosen  brides-maids.  The  long 
journey  before  her  friend  seemed  never  so  weary  and  unending 
as  viewed  from  a  sick-bed,  and  the  parting  never  so  final  and 
appalling. 

Some  small  glimpses  of  her  busy  student  life  are  given  in  the 
following  extracts  from  her  journal  kept  in  the  spring  of  1859. 

May. — I  am  now  in  the  midst  of  the  cares,  duties  and  troubles  of  my 
last  term  at  school,  and  you  must  expect  less  frequent  visits  for  a  few  weeks, 
my  silent  confidant. 

Here’s  a  pretty  thought,  from  what  source  I  know  not.  “Twilight 
flung  her  curtain  down  and  pinned  it  with  a  star.’’  “Duties  are  ours; 
events  are  God’s.”  (  The  Methodist. )  Definition  of  History  :  “Philosophy 
teaching  by  example.” 

Dr.  Foster  closed  the  Bible,  after  his  discourse  at  the  University  chapel 
yesterday,  with  these  words:  “Brothers,  with  most  men  life  is  a  failure.” 
The  words  impressed  me  deeply  ;  there  is  sorrow  in  the  thought,  tears  and 
agony  are  wrapped  up  in  it.  O  Thou  who  rulest  above,  help  me  that  my  life 
may  be  valuable,  that  some  human  being  shall  yet  thank  Thee  that  I  have 
lived  and  toiled  ! 

Have  written  my  “piece”  for  the  “Grammar  party  paper ;  ”  subject, 
“  Living  and  Existing.” 

“Boasts  will  not  pillow  thee  where  great  men  sit, 

Would’st  thou  have  greatness?  Greatly  strive  for  it.” 

I  am  reading  in  The  Methodist  a  new  novel  (religious)  by  Miriam 
Fletcher,  alias  Mrs.  Cruikshank,  of  Cincinnati.  Will  write  what  I  think  of 
it,  afterwards. 

Miss  G.,  a  new  pupil  from  Beloit,  is  an  honest,  generous,  good  girl  (it 
is  refreshing  to  see  one  such),  and  I  like  her.  Mr.  Emery  has  sent  me  a 
package  of  rare  flower  seeds  and  Breck’s  “  P'lower  Garden.”  I  have  planted 
the  seeds — have  a  garden  of  my  own. 

Professor  detained  me  after  devotions  this  morning  and  with  his  most 
“  engaging  ”  smile  made  this  announcement :  “By  the  vote  of  your  teachers, 
you  are  appointed  valedictorian.”  I  was  glad,  of  course;  ’tis  like  human 
nature.  To  others  it  will  seem  a  small  thing  ;  it  is  not  so  to  me. 

Mr.  Gifford  came  last  night,  left  this  morning.  I  like  him.  He  is  a 
much  endowed  man,  he  is  a  good  man.  He  lent  me  a  little  Swedenborgian 
book,  “  Rays  of  Light,”  which  I  am  to  read  and  to  write  him  my  views  upon. 
I  am  glad  he  asked  me,  it  will  be  a  source  of  advancement.  Have  just 


“  Let  a  Man  Be  a  Man.” 


103 


commenced  to  read  “The  Memoirs  of  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli.”  Thus  far  I 
am  enchanted.  I  think  her  views  are  so  essentially  correct ;  they  appeal  so 
directly  to  my  consciousness  of  right  and  fitness.  Oh,  to  have  known  such 
a  person  !  Oh,  to  possess  such  a  mind  !  We  of  the  lower  stratum  are  im¬ 
proved,  refined,  by  such  communication.  I  think  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli 
■would  have  been,  could  have  been,  was,  so  far  as  she  went,  the  greatest  of 
reviewers. 

Humboldt  is  dead  !  He  who  has  for  a  life-time  ranged  over  the  coun¬ 
tries  of  the  earth,  is  admitted  to  new  realms  of  action.  He  has  been  pro¬ 
moted.  He  has  passed  an  honorable  probationship  in  the  academy  of  the 
earth,  and  has  entered  the  college  of  the  universe.  As  says  my  friend, 
M.  H.  B.,  so  say  I,  “  ’Tis  well  when  a  great,  good  man  dies.”  Not  well  for 
us,  but  glorious  for  him. 

Have  finished  reading  story  in  The  Methodist.  It  is  good.  Its  influence 
must  be  good.  It  is  not  so  very  strong.  “Buckeye”  hazarded  much  in 
saying  it  was  equal  to  “Uncle  Tom’s  Cabin”;  it  is  not,  nearly.  Harry 
Bradford  is  a  noble  character,  almost  equal  to  John  Halifax,  but  he  weeps 
too  much,  and  so  does  Willie  Hunter.  L,et  a  man  be  a  man.  I  don’t  like 
Harry’s  ideas  about  a  wife’s  obeying  her  husband.  That  I  scout  wherever  I 
see  it.  I  do  not  think  I  am  unreasonable  ;  I  think  I  have  good  ground  for 
my  belief.  If  I  truly  believed  that  the  fifth  chapter  of  Ephesians  (twenty- 
second  to  twenty-fourth  verses)  was  to  be  understood  literally  and  applied 
to  me ,  if  ever  I’m  any  man's  wife,  I  should  think  the  evidence  sufficient 
that  God  was  unjust,  unreasonable,  a  tyrant.  But  as  it  is  I  do  not.  This 
is  my  opinion  now  ;  will  it  change  ?  It  may  seem  wrong  to  others.  It  is 
my  way  of  thinking,  and  I  have  a  right  to  it.  That  right  I  will  maintain. 

Study  did  not  end  with  the  abandonment  of  the  class-room, 
but,  as  she  had  planned,  went  on  in  new  forms,  and  with  the 
intent  and  intensity  of  original  research.  Her  seliool-mates  when 
they  visited  her  in  her  quiet  little  room,  with  its  bright  south 
and  east  windows  brimming  the  cozy  nook  with  warm  sunshine, 
found  her  always  at  her  desk  with  books,  paper  and  pen,  for  with 
her  independent  mind,  the  thoughts  and  investigations  of  others 
were  not  properly  her  own  until  she  had  fixed  them  in  the  mould 
of  personal  judgment,  and  phrased  them  in  the  forceful  language 
of  her  own  opinions. 

While  society,  or  the  superficial  intercourse  known  by  this 
name,  had  little  charm  for  this  studious  young  woman,  whose 
keen  spirit  soon  pierced  its  disguises  and  rated  it  at  its  real 
value,  to  her  journal  she  philosophized  about  it  in  this  wise: 

As  I  gain  in  experience,  I  see  more  and  more  distinctly  that  a  young  lady 
must  have  accomplishments  to  be  of  value  in  society.  That  august  tyrant 
asks  every  candidate  for  preferment  in  its  ranks  :  “What  can  you  do  for 


io4 


Happy  Home  Days. 


me?  Can  you  tell  me  a  story,  make  me  a  joke  or  sing  me  a  song?  I  am 
to  be  amused  !  ”  Society  is  not  for  scholarly  discipline.  Study  is  for  private 
life.  Benefactions,  loves,  hates,  emoluments,  business — all  these  go  on 
behind  the  scenes.  Men  grow  learned,  and  good,  and  great  otherwhere  than 
in  society.  They  ponder,  and  delve,  and  discover  in  secret  places.  Women 
suffer  and  grow  uncomplaining  in  toil  and  sacrifice  and  learn  that  life’s 
grandest  lesson  is  summed  up  in  four  simple  words — “  Let  us  be  patient  ” — in 
the  nooks  and  corners  of  the  earth.  Into  society  they  may  bring  not  their 
labors  but  the  fruit  of  their  labors.  Public  opinion,  which  is  the  mouth¬ 
piece  of  society,  asks  not  of  any  man  :  “  When  did  you  do  this,  where  did 

you  accomplish  it?”  but,  “What  have  you  done?  we  do  not  care  for  the 
process,  give  us  the  results.” 

Society  is  to  every-day  life  what  recess  is  to  the  school-boy.  If  it  has 
been  crowded  from  this,  its  right  relation,  then  it  is  for  every  right-thinking 
member  to  aid  in  the  restoration  to  its  true  position.  Let  no  cynical  philos¬ 
opher  inveigh  against  society.  Let  none  say  its  fruits  are  simply  heartless¬ 
ness  and  hypocrisy.  Man  is  a  creature  of  habits  ;  when  among  his  fellows, 
he  does  his  best  studiously  at  first,  unthinkingly  afterward.  I  will  venture  to 
assert  that  the  man  who  was  greater  than  any  other  who  walked  the  earth 
was  the  kindest,  the  best  bred,  the  most  polite.  Society  is  not  an  incidental, 
unimportant  affair  ;  it  is  the  outward  sign  of  an  inward  grace.  Let  us,  then, 
if  we  can,  be  graceful ;  cultivate  conversational  ability,  musical  talent ;  im¬ 
prove  our  manners — and  our  beauty,  if  we  are  blessed  with  it.  Harmonious 
sounds  cheer  the  heart.  Fitness  is  admirable.  All  these  are  means  of  hap¬ 
piness  to  us  who  have  sorrow  enough  at  best.  It  is  no  light  thing  to 
perform  the  duties  we  owe  to  society,  and  it  is  better  to  approximate  than 
to  ignore  them. 

Scattered  all  along  through  this  year  the  journal  shows 
many  an  ardent  longing  for  the  best  and  most  symmetrical  of  all 
lives — that  of  the  Christian.  The  sacred  song,  the  faithful  ser¬ 
mon  and  many  an  earnest  conversation  calls  out  this  deep  desire 
and  its  expression. 

The  life  of  the  home  was  a  very  bright  and  merry  one  at 
this  time,  for  the  three  children  were  all  together,  all  earnestly 
at  work,  but  all  as  uniquely  bent  on  enjoyment  as  ever  they  had 
been  in  the  old  delightful  days  of  Forest  Home.  Oliver  having 
finished  his  college  studies,  was  preparing  for  the  ministry  ; 
Mary  was  joyfully  nearing  her  own  graduation  day — full  of  en¬ 
thusiasm  for  knowledge,  for  happiness,  for  all  the  real  values  of 
life.  Frances  alone  at  home,  deep  in  a  young  girl’s  philosophy 
of  existence,  was  nevertheless  as  fond  of  a  romp',  a  joke,  and  a 
good  time,  as  any  girl  to-day  of  the  particular  fun  and  frolic  that 
young  people  nowadays  engage  in. 


First  Glimpse  of  Evanston . 


105 


Deeply  envious  of  the  brothers  and  friends  who  were  so  fond 
of  their  college  fraternity,  and  so  tantalizing  with  their  half- 
displayed  secrets,  the  girls  of  1859  and  i860,  an  exceptionally 
bright  and  clever  company,  organized  a  secret  society  of  their 
own,  in  which  Frances  and  Mary  were  among  the  deepest  plotters. 
Since  Greek  letters  were  in  order,  ours  was  the  Iota  Omega  fra¬ 
ternity,  or  sorority  ;  dark  and  dreadful  were  its  ceremonies,  grave 
and  momentous  its  secrets.  It  was  not  allowed  to  degenerate, 
however,  into  anything  worse  than  autograph  hunting,  and  even 
in  these  early  days  of  that  nuisance,  we  received  some  sharp  repri¬ 
mands  for  our  importunity.  Horace  Greeley,  particularly,  berated 
us  in  a  long  letter,  which,  fortunately,  we  could  not  entirely 
decipher,  and  which  was  so  wretchedly  illegible  that  we  could 
exhibit  it  to  envious  Sigma  Chi  brothers  without  fear  of  taunt  or 
ridicule.  Abraham  Lincoln  gave  liis  friendly  “sign  manual,” 
Longfellow  wrote  out  a  verse  of  “  Excelsior  ”  for  the  collection, 
but  Queen  Victoria,  alas  !  to  whom  we  had  applied  in  a  letter 
addressed  : 

Victoria, 

Buckingham  Palace, 

London, 

England,  The  World, 

never  deigned  us  a  reply. 

We  had  a  department  of  Notes  and  Queries,  also,  that  was 
given  to  Frank’s  especial  charge,  and  she  was  never  more  herself 
than  when  setting  all  of  us  at  work  with  slender  clues  upon  the 
hunt  for  some  valuable  bits  of  information,  more  than  she  or  we 
knew  at  the  time.  She  was  our  instructor  and  leader.” 

To  the  foregoing  generous  statement  of  my  case  as  a  student 
I  hold  myself  in  duty  bound  to  add  sundry  particulars.  On 
March  2,  1858,  Mary  and  I  left  Forest  Home,  and  that  afternoon 
we  saw  Evanston  for  the  first  time.  I  was  nearly  eighteen  and  a 
half  years  old,  and  three  days  later  my  sister  was  sixteen. 

Mary  thus  wrote  of  our  new  life  : 

March  2,  1858. — Up  in  the  morning  at  three  o’clock,  ate  breakfast,  said 
good-by  to  Forest  Home  with  many  inward  sighs,  and  were  off  to  Janesville 
by  four ;  took  the  cars  and  went,  and  went,  and  went,  until  we  arrived  at 
Chicago  about  one  ;  took  dinner  at  the  Matteson  House,  started  for  Evans¬ 
ton,  only  twelve  miles  away.  The  college  is  really  a  beautiful  building.  We 
are  in  our  own  room  now,  tacking  down  the  carpet,  unpacking  trunks,  etc. 


io6 


Day  by  Day. 


Evening. — We  have  our  room  quite  in  order.  Hope,  and  guess,  we  - 
shall  like  to  live  here,  for  our  room  is  quite  pleasantly  situated,  overlooking 
the  railroad  track,  where  the  cars  pass  often,  on  the  very  road  that  connects 
with  our  home.  Good-night. 

March  3. — Got  up  in  the  morning,  made  toilet  and  bed,  took  our  new 
and  beautiful  silver  forks  and  napkin  rings,  and  went  down  to  breakfast, 
cafne  back  and  arranged  our  room.  Father  gone  to  Chicago  to  get  us  some 
necessary  things.  We  are  doing  very  well ;  have  been  into  the  chapel,  heard 
the  rules  and  regulations  of  the  school,  a  good  many,  to  be  sure,  but  I 
guess  we  shall  be  able  to  keep  them.  Have  not  decided  what  to  study  yet. 
Professor  Jones,  the  president,  is  a  noble-looking  man,  and  his  wife  is  just 
as  nice  as  he  is. 

March  4.  —Commenced  operations  to-day.  Study  natural  philosophy, 
algebra,  elocution  and,  penmanship.  Begin  to  get  acquainted  ;  like  Miss 
Dickinson,  our  division  teacher,  very  much.  Went  down  to  prayers.  Father 
expects  to  return  home  to-morrow  morning.  I  felt  very  lonely  this  after¬ 
noon. 

March  10.  —Went  to  store  and  got  weighed,  result  ninety-four  pounds. 

March  11. — Miss  Kidder  came  to  our  room  and  invited  us  to  her  house 
Saturday.  She  is  a  very  pleasant,  pretty  girl.  This  morning,  in  company 
with  teachers  and  scholars,  went  to  the  lake  ;  it  was  beautiful  to  see  the 
great  waves  come  riding  along,  then  break  and  doff  their  white  caps  to  the 
lookers-on. 

Sunday,  March  28. — Pleasant  day  ;  went  to  church  in  the  morning  and 
evening.  Journal,  I  don’t  know  whether  I  am  a  Christian  or  not.  Hope  I 
am.  I  spoke  in  class  to-day,  the  first  time  I  ever  did  sudh  a  thing  in  my  life. 

March  31. — Frank  is  busy  with  her  paper,  she  is  editress  ;  my  composi¬ 
tion  is  about  the  mosquito. 

April  1. — Had  a  great  time  fooling  people,  fooled  Professor!  A  man 
rode  up  and  down  by  here  dressed  in  woman’s  clothes,  and  right  in  the  midst 
of  church  to-night  there  was  a  great  cry  of  fire,  all  being  April-fool. 

April  9. — In  the  afternoon  we  read  our  debates,  and  listened  to  the 
paper.  When  we  came  up  from  chapel,  what  did  we  hear  but  that  father 
and  mother  had  come — and  were  n’t  we  glad  ?  We  put  on  our  “  best  bib 
and  tucker  ”  and  went  to  the  hotel  as  quick  as  we  could  go.  They  brought 
11s  cake  and  oranges,  nice  head-dresses,  and  all.  Oh,  what  pleasure  it  is  to 
see  home  friends  ! 

April  12. — Had  a  good  mind  to  be  lonely,  but  thought  I  would  n’t. 
Father  thinks  he  shall  be  here  in  two  or  three  weeks  again  ;  good  ! 

May  iS. — The  grammar  party  is  the  all-absorbing  theme  ;  the  boys  are 
going  to  get  the  evergreens  ;  we  have  collected  part  of  the  money  for  the 
cake. 

May  20.— I  went  around  to  help  notify  the  company.  Such  getting 
ready  of  cakes  and  candies,  such  sweeping  of  parlors,  such  arranging  and 
hanging  up  festoons  of  evergreens  was  never  seen. 

May  21. — The  people,  too,  came,  and  kept  coming  until  the  parlors  were 


I 


One  Prayer-meeting.  107 

jammed  full.  We  promenaded,  and  played,  and  waited  on  the  table  until 
twelve  o’clock. 

May  22. — Went  up  to  the  Biblical  Institute  and  saw  some  idols  that  look 
like  devils. 

May  26. — Have  been  appointed  to  read  at  Commencement,  so  has  F.  and 
several  of  the  other  girls. 

May  28. — Up  in  the  teacher’s  room,  playing  all  sorts  of  games,  wring¬ 
ing  water  out  of  tlie  handle  of  a  knife,  and  so  on. 

Dear  little  heart  !  She  liked  the  railroad  because  it  was  a 
palpable  link  binding  us  to  Forest  Home  ! 

At  the  college  in  Evanston,  I  at  once  fell  in  with  a  very  bright, 
attractive,  but  reckless  young  school-mate  for  whom  I  conceived 
a  romantic  attachment,  although  she  was  ‘  ‘  the  wildest  girl  in 
school.”  She  was  from  Chicago,  from  an  irreligious  family,  and 
while  I  think  she  had  a  noble  nature,  her  training  had  led  her  away 
from  the  ideals  that  mine  had  always  nurtured.  It  soon  fell  out 
that,  while  my  gentle  sister  consorted  only  with  the  ‘  ‘  Do-weels,  ’  ’  I 
was  ranked  with  the  “  Ne’er-do-weels,”  that  is,  those  who  did  not 
go  to  prayer-meeting  on  Sunday  evening,  when  all  the  good  stu¬ 
dents  assembled  in  the  library  ;  and  did  not  give  devout  attention 
to  the  seventy  rules  of  the  institution,  though  I  certainly  started 
out  to  do  so,  having  copied  them  and  hung  them  up  on  the  door  of 
my  room  the  very  first  day,  that  I  might  learn  them  by  heart.  But 
this  bright  girl,  to  whom  I  took  a  fancy,  poked  fun  at  the  rules, 
and  at  me  for  keeping  them,  telling  me  that  I  was  to  be  a  law  to 
myself,  and  that  if  I  did  not  disturb  the  order  of  the  institution, 
that  was  all  anybody  could  expect  and  all  that  the  spirit  of  the 
rules  required.  So  I  used  to  perch  myself  up  in  the  steeple  of  the 
college  building,  alongside  of  her,  during  the  study  hours,  unbe¬ 
known  to  the  authorities  ;  and  once  went  into  a  girl’s  room  and 
took  possession  of  the  prayer-meeting  with  my  ill-doing  band  ; 
whereupon,  I  was  promptly  dsked  to  lead  the  meeting,  and  did 
so  in  all  seriousness,  for  I  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  insult¬ 
ing  my  own  mother  as  making  light  of  religion,  at  least  inside  a 
prayer-meeting.  I  can  see  now  that  group  of  sweet,  true-hearted 
girls,  with  the  look  of  surprise  that  came  over  their  pleasant  faces 
when  half  a  dozen  of  us  who  belonged  to  the  contrary  part  came 
in.  They  handed  me  a  Bible,  perhaps  thinking  it  the  best  way 
of  making  us  behave.  It  was  a  shrewd  expedient,  to  say  the 
least.  I  read  a  chapter,  commented  upon  it  as  wisely  as  I  could. 


io8 


The  Grammar  Party. 


and  then  said,  “Let  us  pray.”  They  all  knelt  down  but  one, 
a  harum-scarum  girl,  who  was  among  my  special  associates. 
There  she  sat  bolt  upright,  with  the  rest  all  kneeling,  and  before 
I  began  my  prayer,  which  was  most  seriously  offered,  I  said, 

‘  ‘  Lineburger  ’  ’  —  for  we  were  so  demoralized  that  we  called 
each  other  after  this  fashion, — “why  don’t  you  kneel  down,  and 
behave?  If  you  don’t,  you  are  a  disgrace  to  yourself  and  the 
whole  Lineburger  tribe.”  At  this  nobody  smiled,  though  when 
I  think  of  it  now,  it  seems  so  whimsical  that  I  can  not  help  doing 
so.  Suffice  it  that  “  Lineburger”  knelt,  and  the  devotions  pro¬ 
ceeded  with  the  utmost  decorum. 

One  of  the  original  features  of  the  college  was  the  grammar 
party  given  toward  the  close  of  every  term.  For  each  mistake 
in  grammar  we  were  fined  one  cent,  and  the  pupils  were  constantly 
on  the  watch  for  each  other,  memorandum-book  in  hand  or  pocket. 
We  were  also  allowed  to  call  attention  to  mistakes  by  the  teachers, 
even  including  the  professor  himself,  and  they  were  charged  five 
cents  apiece.  A  goodly  sum  was  thus  accumulated,  to  which  we 
added  by  special  assessment,  and  the  grammar  party  was  thus 
made  of  every  creature’s — worst  !  But  in  spite  of  this  it  was  the 
great  day  of  the  year,  almost  rivaling  the  Commencement  exer¬ 
cises  in  the  church.  Four  large  parlors  were  arranged  in  delight¬ 
ful  juxtaposition  for  promenading,  and  we  festooned  them  with 
evergreens  brought  in  great  loads  from  the  lake  shore.  The 
dining-room  usually  bore  some  motto  like  the  following,  “All 
hail  to  the  Queen’s  English  !  ”  The  “cake  of  errors”  was  of 
great  size  and  beauty,  and  was  metaphorically  supposed  to  have 
been  purchased  with  our  forfeited  pennies.  As  the  crowd  gathered 
around,  Professor  Jones  would  brandish  a  formidable-looking 
knife  above  this  wonderful  creation,  and  in  a  witty  speech  descant 
on  the  importance  of  language,  and  of  good  language,  at  that. 
This  feature  furnished  themes  for  conversation,  so  that  a  piece  of 
good  fortune  in  the  way  of  a  topic  came  to  the  guests  with  every 
piece  of  cake.  I  remember  once  being  escorted  by  a  most  accom¬ 
plished  gentleman,  who,  as  he  critically  tasted  a  slice  from  our 
cake  of  errors,  made  a  familiar  and  witty  extract  from  Goldsmith’s 
famous  poem  in  the  words, 

“  And  e’en  their  errors  leaned  to  virtue’s  side.” 


Prefers  Books  fo  Society . 


109 


Turning  to  my  journal  I  find  these  entries  of  school  days: 

The  grammar  party  is  over.  There  were  one  hundred  and  fifty  guests, 
and  all  passed  off  pleasantly.  Misses  Gordon,  Bragdon,  Atkins,  Stewart, 
Hattie  and  Julia  Wood,  Maggie  McKee,  Lizzie  Wilson  and  myself  were 
waiters.  My  dress  was  nearly  ruined.  Mary  and  I  were  considered  worthy 
to  “  hold  a  candle  ”  to  Miss  Stowe  and  Miss  Shackelford,  editress  and  assist¬ 
ant  editress  of  the  paper,  while  they  read.  My  dress  was  tight  and  I  was 
very  faint  once,  in  the  heated  rooms,  but  I  quickly  recovered.  I  never 
enjoy  “  mixed  society.”  I  was  not  made,  I  am  not  fitted,  for  it.  I  am,  in 
this  one  respect,  like  Charles  Lamb.  He  enjoyed  the  society  of  a  few  per¬ 
sons,  his  equals,  and  companions,  with  whom  he  was  well  acquainted  and  in 
whom  he  had  entire  confidence.  In  such  society  he  was  interesting ;  by 
those  few  friends  he  was  much  beloved.  Beyond  that  circle  he  was  not  him¬ 
self  ;  appeared  grave  and  confused  and  was  considered  uninteresting.  This 
is  my  position  now,  as  nearly  as  I  know  how  to  state  it.  I  am  sorry.  It  is 
unfortunate,  it  will  cause  me  much  unhappiness,  but  I  can  not  help  it. 
Somehow,  I  have  an  unconquerable  aversion  to  intercourse  with  my 
superiors  in  position,  age,  or  education.  This  is  unpleasant,  too.  I  shall 
lose  many  opportunities  for  improvement  by  this  means.  I  have  had  the 
opportunity  of  becoming  acquainted  with  Mrs.  P.,  Mrs.  N.,  and  several 
others,  but  the  dread  I  have  of  such  relations  I  can  not  overcome.  When 
speaking  with  such  individuals  I  can  never  divest  their  characters,  their 
intellects,  of  the  accidents  of  wealth,  age  and  position,  and  hence  I  can 
never  be  at  ease.  This  is  one  reason  why  I  like  books  so  well.  They  do  not 
chill  me,  they  are  content  that  I  should  absorb  the  knowledge-nectar  they 
contain,  without  reminding  me  of  my  inferiority  to  them.  They  are  great, 
yet  most  familiar;  they  say  to  every  reader,'  “  I  am  for  you,  my  greatest 
pleasure  is  in  having  your  attention.”  They  are  great  without  arrogance, 
wise  without  hauteur ,  familiar  without  degradation.  They  are  full  of  power 
and  pathos,  yet  not  conscious  of  it;  “they  make  no  sign.”  And  this  is 
natural,  for  each  man  gives  us  his  best  self  in  his  books,  and  our  best  selves 
are  above  and  beyond  our  fortunate  accidents.  To  books,  then,  let  me  flee. 
They  never  frighten  me.  They  “never  molest  me,  nor  make  me  afraid.” 

I  conversed  a  short  time  with  Mrs.  Hayes,  Lillie’s  mother.  She  is 
rather  aged,  and  is  a  fine,  intelligent  lady.  She  spoke  of  Lillie  on  the  ocean 
to-night,  and  while  the  feelings  of  the  mother  were  prominent,  I  could  also 
discern  the  fortitude  of  the  Christian. 

I  am  more  interested  in  the  “  Memoirs  of  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli,”  than 
in  any  other  book  I  have  read  for  years.  Here  we  see  what  a  woman 
achieved  for  herself.  Not  so  much  fame  or  honor,  these  are  of  minor  im¬ 
portance,  but  a  w’hole  character,  a  cultivated  intellect,  right  judgment,  self- 
knowledge,  self-happiness.  If  she,  why  not  we,  by  steady  toil  ? 

I  have  my  Butler’s  Analogy  lessons  satisfactorily,  I  think  ;  my  astronomy 
lessons,  (whenever  mathematics  present  themselves),  awfully.  I  was  ex¬ 
ceedingly  mortified  to-day  by  my  stupidity. 

Memorandum. — To  have,  always,  some  fixed  rule  of  action  in  my  mind. 


no 


A  Lover  of  Knowledge . 


To  have  two  objects :  A  life-object  and  a  daily,  hourly  object.  To  study 
systematically.  To  inform  myself  first  on  the  subjects  of  importance  of 
which  I  feel  most  ignorant. 

Annie  Foster  called  and  invited  Mary  and  me  to  a  party  at  Doctor 
Foster’s  to-night,  to  which  the  senior  and  junior  classes  of  the  University 
are  also  invited.  At  the  appointed  time  we  went,  at  twelve  o’clock  we  re¬ 
turned.  Much  as  I  dislike  “mixed  companies  ”  in  general,  I  enjoyed  this 
occasion.  I  made  two  grand  discoveries.  The  first  was  this  :  Dr.  Foster 
so  far  understands  what  he  is,  what  his  position  is,  and  how  impossible  it 
would  be  to  compromise.his  dignity  by  any  honorable  act ;  in  fact,  he  takes 
such  extended  and  (I  think)  correct  views  of  facts  and  relations,  that  he 
thinks  it  no  sacrifice  of  dignity  to  talk  with  a  school-girl,  to  walk  with  her, 
to  honor  her  with  his  company  to  supper,  and  to  forget  for  awhile  the 
D.  D.,  the  genius,  the  position,  the  scholar  and  the  orator,  in  acting  the  part 
of  a  true  host  and  a  most  genial  gentleman.  When  I  see  his  beautiful  home 
life  and  home  character,  when  I  see  him  leaving  his  guests  to  relieve  his  wife 
from  the  care  of  a  fretful  child,  when  I  see  him  rocking  back  and  forth  and 
murmuring  a  song  to  soothe  the  child  to  slumber,  when  I  see  his  nice  appre¬ 
ciation  of  the  characters  and  abilities  of  those  whom  he  is  entertaining, 
when  I  see  him  adjusting  his  conversation  to  their  capacities,  how  vastly  is 
my  reverence,  my  appreciation  of  his  merit,  increased.  At  present  I  have 
a  more  exalted  opinion  of  Dr.  Foster  than  of  any  other  living  man. 

The  other  revelation  is  that  Annie  Foster  is,  in  all  the  respects  men¬ 
tioned,  like  her  father,  and  worthy  of  him. 

Everything  humbles  me,  but  two  things  in  the  highest  degree.  One  is 
to  .stand  in  a  large  library,  the  other  to  study  astronomy.  In  both  cases  I 
not  only  see  how  much  there  is  to  be  known,  how  insignificant  my  knowl¬ 
edge  is,  but  I  see  how  atomic  I  am,  compared  with  other  human  beings. 
Astronomers  “  think  God’s  thoughts  after  him.”  Alas,  I  can  hardly  think 
their  thoughts  after  them,  when  all  is  clearly  represented  * 

After  school,  yesterday,  I  went  to  C.  G.’s  room  and  stayed  till  dark.  It 
was  pleasant,  and  reminded  me  of  the  joyful  old  times  when  I,  too,  was  a 
boarder.  I  believe  that  to  be  connected  in  some  capacity  with  a  school  is 
what  I  am  intended  for. 

Memorandum.  —  Margaret  Fuller’s  “  Conversation  Classes.”  I  believe, 
though  not  fluent  in  conversation,  I  can  benefit  school-girls  by  a  similar 
arrangement  when  I’m  a  teacher.  C.  G.  is  a  good,  sound  writer  and  in  this 
respect,  as  in  others,  will  be  an  acquisition  to  our  school. 

I  have  been  looking  over  the  first  few  days  of  this  installment  of  my 
journal  and  find  that  I  complain  bitterly  of  school  duties  and  cares. 
From  this,  hereafter,  when  I  have  forgotten,  I  may  infer  that  I  was  so 
narrow-minded  as  to  hate  study.  I  will  defend  myself.  The  case  is  this  :  I 
truly  love  knowledge.  I  thank  God  most  that  He  has  made  us  so  that  we 
may  make  ourselves  great  and  wise  and  good,  that  we  may  change  our¬ 
selves  in  mind  from  helpless  babes  to  strong,  steadfast  characters^  At  school 
we  acquire  discipline.  We  learn  how  to  use  the  implements  with  which 
we  are  provided  for  “  working  ”  the  mine  of  truth.  Along  with  this,  rules 


Emerson  ’  .?  Ph ilosophy. 


1 1 1 


are,  perhaps  necessarily  (I’m  not  certain),  imposed  upon  us.  Rules  are  un¬ 
pleasant  ;  and  the  reason  why  I’m  glad  to  leave  school  is  this  :  I  can  learn, 
I  truly  think,  as  well  alone,  now.  I  shall  be  free  from  a  restraint  that  is 
irksome  to  me.  But  then,  I  love  my  teachers,  the  institution  which  has 
been  truly  to  me  an  “Alma  Mater,”  the  fellow-students  who  have  been  uni¬ 
formly  kind  and  loving.  I  hope  I  take  a  correct  view  of  the  case.  O  the. 
glory  of  knowing  always  when  you  are  in  the  right  !  I  shall  arrive  at  it. 

Nowadays  and  until  Commencement,  I  am ,  and  am  to  be  in  a  perpet¬ 
ual  furor.  I  have  no  time  to  think  steadily  or  do  anything  carefully 
and  well.  Consequently,  I  don’t  think.  Oh,  I’m  tired  and  fretted  and  I 
long  for  the  rest  that  is  to  follow. 

Am  reading  the  second  volume  of  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli’s  “  Memoirs.” 
Like  it,  even  at  the  first ;  here's  an  extract :  “  Among  this  band  was  the 
young  girl  wTho,  early  taking  a  solemn  view  of  the  duties  of  life,  found  it 
difficult  to  serve  an  apprenticeship  to  its  follies.  She  could  not  turn  her 
sweetness  into  ‘manner,’  nor  cultivate  love  of  approbation  at  the  expense 
of  virginity  of  heart.  In  so-called  society  she  found  no  sustenance  for  her 
truest,  fairest  self,  and  so  preferred  to  live  with  external  Nature,  a  few 
friends,  her  pencil  and  books.  She,  they  say,  is  ‘mad  !  ’  ” 

Now,  in  some  respects,  I’m  like  that.  I’ve  no  “  sweetness  ”  to  lose,  ’ tis 
true,  but  I  have  some  character,  some  individuality,  instead.  The  last  part 
of  the  quotation  is  like  me  as  I  would  be.  Books  I  have,  Nature  I  have.  I 
have  no  melodeon  or  organ — my  favorite  instrument ;  I  will  learn  drawing. 
Then  I  shall  have  pleasure  enough,  except— oh,  I  want  a  young  friend  of 
my  own  age,  nearly,  who  shall  love  me,  understand  me,  bear  with  me  ! 
Often  I  have  thought  that  I  had  such  an  one,  but  have  found  to  my  bitter 
regret  that  I  was  mistaken. 

Received  letter  from  Oliver.  He  has  the  second  “  Honor  ”  of  his  class, 
viz.,  Latin  oration.  He  is  the  President  of  the  Archaean  Society  ;  I’m  glad, 
of  course. 

“The  girls”  say  I  am  fickle  ;  I  have  always  had  that  reputation,  I  be¬ 
lieve.  And  yet  it  is  not  my  fault.  In  Emerson’s  essay  on  “  Circles'”  I  find 
the  solution  of  the  problem.  Listen  :  “  Men  cease  to  interest  us,  when  we 

find  their  limitations.  The  only  sin  is  imitation.  As  soon  as  you  once  come 
up  with  a  man’s  boundaries,  it  is  all  over  with  him.  Has  he  talents?  Has 
he  enterprise  ?  Has  he  knowledge?  It  boots  not.  Infinitely  alluring  and 
attractive  was  he  to  you  yesterday,  a  great  hope,  a  sea  to  swim  in  ?  Now 
you  have  found  his  shores,  found  it  a  pond,  and  you  care  not  if  you  never 
see  it  again.”  This  is  hard  philosophy,  but,  with  some  abatement,  it  is  true. 

June  22. —  Beautiful  day.  We  should  be  very  grateful  to  Him  that 
ruleth.  Last  night  Mary  and  I  went  to  hear  Rev.  W.  McKaig  lecture  be¬ 
fore  the  literary  societies  of  the  Garrett  Biblical  Institute,  whose  anniversary 
exercises  are  now  progressing.  His  subject,  as  nearly  as  I  can  remember  the 
wording  of  it,  was  :  “  The  Study  of  Philosophy  as  Necessary  to  Liberal  Cult¬ 

ure,  and  in  its  Application  to  Theology.”  I  have  heard  that  some  of  the 
Slite  of  the  towm  think  little  of  the  production.  In  most  cases  the  opinions 
of  those  to  whom  I  allude  would  have  great  weight  with  me,  for  they  are 


1 1 2 


Inquirer ,  not  Infidel. 


learned  men,  and  have  had  experience,  but  in  this  instance  my  own 
convictions  decide  so  strongly,  so  involuntarily,  that  I  do  not  regard  their 
decisions  as  material  in  the  least.  For  me  the  lecture  was,  without  ex¬ 
ception,  the  best  I  have  ever  listened  to.  The  thoughts  were  original,  the 
language  forcible  Anglo-Saxon,  the  metaphors  beautiful,  and  most  of  the  con¬ 
clusions  just.  The  word  “postulate”  occurred  too  frequently,  “mind”  was 
pronounced  “mine.”  Two  words  were  incorrectly  accented,  I  forget  what 
they  were  ;  one  word  was  used,  which,  I  think,  the  dictionary  does  not  con¬ 
tain,  “ parage um,”  and  one  word  “dis - ’’something,  was  coined.  One 

of  the  conclusions  I  thought  incorrect,  viz. :  That  the  Bible  is  to  stand  even 
in  opposition  to  known  facts  ;  i.e.,  out  of  two  cases,  in  one  of  which,  the 
Bible  says  so  and  so,  in  the  other  of  which  science  plainly  declares  the  con¬ 
trary,  the  lecturer  said  we  were  to  believe  the  Bible  and  disbelieve  science. 
This  seems  unreasonable  ;  Bishop  Butler  declares  the  contrary,  and  he  is 
good  authority.  Once  Mr.  McKaig  said  that  men  should  confine  them¬ 
selves  to  specialties,  or  he  made  a  statement  very  much  like  that ;  soon  after, 
lie  accused  Hugh  Miller  of  wrong  judging  because  he  had  so  closely  con¬ 
fined  himself  to  his  specialty,  geology.  I  have  bluntly  mentioned  all  the 
errors  I  noticed.  Deductions  must  be  made  for  misapprehension  on  my 
part,  for  the  narrowness  of  the  views -which  I  of  necessity  take,  for  my  slight 
knowledge  of  the  mighty  subject  considered,  of  the  writers  referred  to,  etc., 
etc.  But,  letting  the  errors  stand  as  I  have  placed  them,  abating  nothing, 
the  lecture  was  yet  a  fine  one.  It  was  as  refreshing  to  the  mind  to  look  from 
the  pure  heights  to  which  we  were  led,  as  to  the  lungs  is  the  bland  evening 
breeze  of  the  country  after  a  dusty  city  day.  It  would  be  presumption  and 
mockery  in  me  to  attempt  a  synopsis,  so,  out  of  respect  to  the  lecturer,  I 
forbear.  God  speed  him  always,  say  I.  The  vulgar  mind  will  not  appreci¬ 
ate  him.  He  will  have  few*  friends  (Emersonian)  because  few  equals  among 
his  companions.  Yet  he  is  enough  for  himself.  With  his  head  among  the 
stars  it  will  be  nothing  to  him  whether  dogs  fawn  or  nibble  at  his  shoe- 
ties.  “  Little  he’ll  reck  !  ”  I  have  spoken  enthusiastically,  as  I  feel. 

Memorandum. — I  must  study  mental  philosophy  by  myself  after  I  leave 
school.  It  was  rather  deep,  and  I  had  to  keep  up  a  terrible  thinking  to  get 
any  benefit,  but  think  I  succeeded  partially. 

About  this  time,  my  dear  friend  and  gifted  preceptor,  Prof. 
William  P.  Jones,  president  of  the  college,  stated  my  case  in 
prayer-meeting  over  at  the  church  and  asked  prayers  on  my  be¬ 
half.  When  this  came  to  my  ears  I  felt  considerably  wrought 
upon,  for  he  had  said  I  was  an  infidel,  and  I  considered  myself  an 
inquirer.  However,  he  had  done  it  in  good  part  and  I  took  it 
the  same  way.  Revival  meetings  were  soon  begun,  and  one  Sun¬ 
day  evening  Professor  Jones  urged  some  of  us  “wild  girls,”  as  we 
were  called,  to  go  to  the  altar.  I  was  very  loth  to  do  this,  but,  to 
please  him,  consented.  Going  home  after  the  meeting  I  wrote 


A  Plain  Statc7iient. 


113 

the  following  letter,  returned  to  me  after  an  interval  of  thirty 
years  by  Mrs.  Jones  : 

Professor — I  thank  you  very  much  for  the  interest  you  manifest  in 
me  and  at  the  same  time  I  feel  very  guilty. 

I  do  not  think  you  know  how  hard  my  heart  is,  how  far  I  am  from  feel¬ 
ing  anything.  I  see  I  have  no  excuse  to  offer  for  my  conduct.  Three  facts 
stand  out  before  me  as  facts,  nothing  more.  I  view  them  calmly,  coldly. 
They  are  these.  I  am  a  great  sinner  ;  it  is  a  sin  greater  than  I  can  compre¬ 
hend  to  doubt  God,  or  to  refuse  submission  to  him,  for  a  moment.  I  have 
no  excuse  for  dela}dngto  become  a  Christian.  The  third  fact  is,  I  am  as  cold 
as  an  iceberg,  as  unconcerned  as  a  stone.  I  am  not  proud  of  it,  I  am  not 
ashamed  of  it.  I  view  it  simply  as  a  truth.  I  disconnect  it  from  myself.  I 
seem  to  think  that  all  these  things  concern  others,  but  do  not  concern  me. 
You  will  say  that  I  shall  feel  in  hell  (a  hard  word);  I  shall  see  that  these 
things  did  concern  me,  when  I  come  to  die.  I  acknowledge  it.  If  there  is 
a  God,  a  heaven,  a  hell,  a  devil,  then  I  am  undone.  I  have  been  taught  to 
think  that  all  these  exist,  yet  from  childhood  I  have  doubted. 

I  have  been  told  that  man  feels  a  lack,  a  longing  for  something  not 
possessed,  when  away  from  God.  Candidly,  honestly,  I  feel  no  lack,  no 
want.  I  would  not  ask  for  more  happiness  than  I  have  always  had,  if  by 
asking  I  might  obtain  it.  You  will  say  I  ought  to  be  thankful  for  this  to  God. 
I  am  thankful  to  something,  thankful  to  whatever  has  thus  blessed  me,  and  I 
wish  I  was  as  sure  that  a  good  Spirit  ruling  the  universe  had  done  this,  as 
Christians  are. 

If  I  were  to  pray,  I  should  say,  if  I  were  candid ,  “  Oh  God,  if  there  be 
a  God,  save  my  soul,  if  I  have  a  soul !  ” 

It  is  humiliating  for  me,  the  child  of  pious  parents,  for  whom  a  thousand 
prayers  have  been  offered  up,  to  confess  thus.  I  had  thought  no  human 
heart  should  be  permitted  to  look  so  deeply  into  mine.  But  I  think  it  just 
that  you  should  know. 

And  now,  in  view  of  all  these  facts,  I  ask,  respectfully,  yet  earnestly, 
ought  I  to  go  to  the  altar,  to  kneel  before  the  Christian’s  God,  to  hear  the 
Christian’s  prayer,  careless  and  unconcerned  ?  Soon  it  will  be  expected  that 
I  speak  in  church.  Congratulations  will  be  numerous,  that  I  have  “  returned 
to  the  fold,”  and  my  dark,  wicked  heart  alone  shall  know  how  far  I  have 
wandered,  how  hypocritical  I  am. 

I  am  willing  to  attend  church,  though  it  interferes  very  much  with  my 
progress  in  science.  I  am  willing  to  go,  if  you  think  it  will  do  any  good, 
but  until  I  feel  differently,  I  dare  not  go  to  the  altar  again.  When  I  do  I 
will  go  unasked.  I  am, 

Gratefully  and  respectfully  yours, 

Frances  E.  Wieeard. 

During  my  last  year,  tlie  follies  of  my  early  days  at  Evans¬ 
ton  (mentioned  in  the  sketch  of  Companionships),  were  not 
8 


No  Greek  and  Latin. 


”4 

renewed.  My  inamorata  was  in  New  England,  and  though  the 
reception  of  her  letters  marked  the  red-letter  days  of  each  week, 
I  had  promised  my  mother  better  fashions,  and  consorted  almost 
wholly  with  the  “good  girls”  among  whom  my  nickname  was 
“  the  favorite,”  and  the  only  escapade  of  which  I  was  guilty  was 
having  my  hair  neatly  shingled,  a  rare  delight,  the  continuance 
of  which  until  this  hour  would  have  added  incalculably  to  the 
charms  of  existence  for  me. 

That  last  year  at  school,  of  which  my  sister-in-law  lias 
spoken  in  her  sketch,  was  one  of  unceasing  application.  I  often 
rose  at  four  o’clock,  and  more  than  once  have  been  found  on  the 
sitting-room  floor  asleep,  with  my  face  in  my  “  Butler’s  Analogy,” 
or  some  other  of  those  difficult  studies  that  crowded  m}^  senior 
year  too  full  for  satisfaction. 

My  only  classmate  was  Miss  Margaret  McKee,  of  Batavia, 
Ill.,  a  tall,  handsome  brunette.  She  was  a  young  lady  of  the 
highest  character,  a  devoted  student  and  an  earnest  Christian.  We 
were  warm  friends  always,  her  great  reticence  of  nature,  and  my 
frankness  proving  mutually  attractive.  We  had  no  quarrel  over 
class  honors,  she  taking  the  salutatory,  and  I  the  valedictory. 

Up  to  that  time,  my  life  had  known  no  greater  disappoint¬ 
ment  than  the  decision  of  my  mother  that  I  could  not  study  Latin 
and  Greek.  One  year  longer  devoted  wholly  to  these  studies,  with 
my  habits  of  application,  would  have  given  me  at  least  a  rudiment¬ 
ary  knowledge  of  them  both,  but  mother  has  always  strenuously 
objected  to  the  study  of  the  classics,  believing  that  the  time  might 
be  far  better  expended  in  a  well  selected  course  of  English  liter¬ 
ature,  which  she  said  I  should  have  at  home,  free  from  the 
trammel  of  rules  and  the  unescapable  bondage  of  the  school-bell. 
I  think  she  was  in  error  here,  and  that  the  mental  gymnastics 
furnished  by  such  studies  would  have  been  incalculably  valuable 
to  one  of  my  tastes  and  temperament.  I  remember  playing  for 
hours,  a  piece  of  classical  music  that  seemed  to  me  to  express  the 
pathos  of  the  situation,  and,  at  its  close,  the  jubilant  triumph 
even  over  this  deprivation  and  sorrow. 

July  23. — Since  I  last  wrote  in  my  journal,  under  date  of  June  22, 
I  have  suffered  much,  physically  and  mentally.  I  have  borne  great  disap¬ 
pointments  (for  me)  but,  as  I  have  suffered,  I  have  thought,  and  I  am  the 
wiser  and  the  better  for  my  trial.  I  have  had  typhoid  fever ;  am  just  re- 


‘  ‘  Be  Re  sol u  te  and  Calm .  ’  ’ 


ii5 

covering.  Very  much  of  interest  has  occurred  during  these  unchronicled 
days.  I  have  seen  Oliver's  diploma  and  my  own.  We  are  graduates  !  How 
very  little  does  the  word  mean,  and  yet  how  much  !  It  means  years  of  patient, 
silent  brain  work,  discipline,  obedience  to  the  will  of  others.  It  means  that 
we  have  started  on  the  beautiful  search  after  truth  and  right  and  peace. 
Only  started — only  opened  the  door.  Thank  God  !  we  may  go  on  forever 
alone.  I  was  unable  to  be  present  or  to  receive  my  diploma  and  Mary  took 
it  for  me.  ****** 

I  am  very  sorry  I  was  vexed.  There  was  110  valedictory.  The  examina¬ 
tions  and  Commencement  exercises  passed  off  creditably  to  the  institution,  I 
have  been  told.  Oliver  has  gone  with  several  classmates  and  friends  on  a 
trip  to  Lake  Superior.  Of  course  we  are  anxious  about  him.  C.  G.  left 
school  just  as  I  was  taken  sick.  Her  mother  is  dead.  Poor  girl !  She  is 
having  a  hard  trial,  and  a  weary  life,  but  if  she  bears  it  well,  it  will  be  better 
for  her.  Dr.  Ludlam,  our  honored  and  beloved  physician,  has  gone  to  the 
beautiful  Land  o’  the  Leal.  What  we  used  to  see  walking  the  streets,  and 
smiling  pleasantly,  the  chrysalis  he  inhabited,  sleeps  in  Rose  Hill  cemetery. 
The  spirit  is  happy  to  day  with  God  and  Christ.  It  is  very  well.  If  I  had 
had  his  preparation,  joyfully  would  I  have  exchanged  places  with  him. 
But  I  have  come  back  to  life  to  suffer,  and  toil,  and  earn, — in  some  degree, — 
the  rest  of  the  hereafter. 

It  was  the  disappointment  of  my  life,  that  I  was  unable  to  bear  my  ex¬ 
aminations,  read  my  essay  and  graduate  regularly.  I  have  borne  it  stoically  ; 
I  have  shed  no  tear,  and  said  little  about  it,  but  I  have  thought.  His  hand 
has  crushed  me,  and  not  without  reason,  not,  I  hope,  in  vain. 

I  shall  be  twenty  years  old  in  September,  and  I  have  as  yet  been  of 
no  use  in  the  world.  When  I  recover,  when  I  possess  once  more  a  “sound 
mind  in  a  sound  body,”  I  will  earn  my  own  living  ;  “  pay  my  own  way,”  and 
try  to  be  of  use  in  the  world.  It  will — it  shall — be  better  that  I  did  not  die. 
My  acquaintances  have  been  kind  during  my  illness ;  especially  I  name  with 
gratitude  Mary  Bannister  and  Rowena  Kidder.  Mrs.  Noyes  has  shown  an 
interest  in  me,  and  has  done  me  a  kindness  which  I  can  not  forget,  and  for 
which,  I  think,  I  am  as  thankful  as  I  am  capable  of  being.  This  verse  from 
one  of  Longfellow’s  poems  has  comforted  and  quieted  me  : 

And  thou,  too,  whosoe’er  thou  art 
That  readest  this  brief  psalm, 

As  one  by  one  thy  hopes  depart, 

Be  resolute  and  calm. 

Take  them  all  in  all,  my  school  days  were  a  blessed  time, 
full  of  happiness  and  aspiration,  having  in  them  the  charm  of 
success  and  the  witchery  of  friendship,  deepening  in  my  heart 
the  love  of  humanity  and  exalting  my  spirit  to  the  wTorsliip 
of  God. 


n6 


A  False  Sense  of  Honor. 


Perhaps  the  most  unfortunate  outgrowth  of  the  harum-scarum 
period  of  about  four  months  on  which  I  entered,  as  a  student  at 
Evanston,  was  the  peculiar  construction  of  the  rules  by  the 
“  Ne’er-do-weels,”  and  after  a  few  weeks  adopted,  I  grieve  to 
say,  by  me.  That  is,  they  said  the  rules  were  so  numerous  that 
nobody  could  remember  them  all,  and  that  if  we  were  quiet  and 
orderly  we  should,  in  effect,  keep  the  rules,  because  the  end  they 
sought  would  be  attained,  even  though  we  did  not  technically 
observe  each  specification.  Every  night  at  prayers,  those  who 
had  violated  the  rules  were  to  rise  and  report.  We  simply  did 
not  rise.  I  think  I  never  in  my  life  had  such  a  sense  of  ill-desert 
as  when  at  the  close  of  the  term,  our  beloved  Professor  Jones 
called  the  names  of  all  who  had  violated  the  rules,  asking  them 
to  rise,  whereupon  they  reluctantly  stood  up,  among  them  my 
sister  Mary,  who  was  the  saint  of  the  school.  He  then  called 
the  names  of  all  who  had  not  violated  the  rules,  that  is,  who  had 
not  reported  having  done  so,  and  we  stood  up,  none  of  us  know¬ 
ing  to  what  all  this  was  preliminary.  Now  came  the  keenest 
moment  of  self-contempt  I  ever  knew,  for  the  Professor  made  a 
beautiful  speech,  in  which  he  gently  labored  with  those  who  had 
broken  the  rules,  and  then,  with  enthusiasm,  thanked  those  who 
had  not,  in  the  name  of  himself  and  the  other  members  of  the 
faculty,  and  held  them  up  as  an  example  !  The  fact  that  we 
were  not  suspected,  proves  that  we  did  not  do  anything  partic¬ 
ularly  out  of  the  way,  and  that  our  general  reputation  was  good  ; 
but  I  was  so  disgusted  with  myself  at  this  false  standing,  that 
but  for  a  miserable  sense  of  what  they  call  “honor,”  subsisting 
among  school-mates  and  thieves,  I  should  have  risen  then  and 
there,  in  obedience  to  my  strong  impulse,  and  stated  the  facts  in 
the  case.  These  circumstances  had  much  to  do  with  my  radical 
action  when  I  became  president  of  the  same  institution  twelve 
years  later,  and  almost  altogether  put  rules  aside,  having  instead 
a  Roll  of  Honor,  and  a  system  of  Self-government. 

I  wish  I  had  not  had  those  months  as  a  “  law  unto  myself,” 
though  nothing  worse  occurred  in  them  than  I  have  told,  except 
that  one  night  Maggie  and  I  dressed  up  as  two  pirates.  I  had 
been  reading  that  greatest  of  pirate  stories,  “Jack  Sheppard,” 
the  only  one  of  its  kind  that  I  had  ever  seen,  and  we  were  plan¬ 
ning  for  the  adventures  that  were  before  us  as  highwaymen  of 


Mosquitoes  and  Smoke.-  * 


ii7 

the  sea,  and  were  using,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  as  much  of  the 
language  that  such  men  would  have  used  as  we  knew,  which 
was  not  much,  and,  horrible  to  relate,  were  armed  and  equipped, 
not  only  with  wooden  pistols  and  bowie-knives,  but  with  a  cigar 
apiece,  and  I  am  afraid  that  on  the  table  between  us  stood  a  bottle 
of  ginger-pop,  which  was  as  far  as  we  dared  to  go  in  the  direction 
of  inebriation.  We  were  not  accustomed  to  estimate  the  perme¬ 
ating  power  of  cigar  smoke,  whereby  we  were  very  Soon  given 
away  ;  for  there  came  a  gentle  little  rap  at  the  door,  and  without 
waiting  for  any  response,  a  tall,  elegant  woman  came  in,  Miss 
Mary  Dickinson,  my  division  teacher.  She  it  was  who,  entering 
my  room  each  day,  would  run  her  finger  along  the  window- 
frame  to  see  if  there  had  been  careful  dusting.  She  was  an  ex¬ 
quisite  woman  in  look  and  manner,  as  fresh  and  dainty  as  a  rose. 
It  must,  indeed,  »have  been  a  spectacle  to  her  to  see  a  girl  who 
never  failed  in  her  recitation  room  sitting,  in  the  character  I  had 
assumed,  beside  another  who  was  known  as  “the  wildest  girl 
in  school.”  But  Miss  Dickinson  had  remarkable  clearness  of 
mental  vision.  She  made  no  ado  whatever,  but  said,  “Well,  if 
this  is  not  fortunate  !  The  mosquitoes  have  almost  driven  me 
out  of  my  room  this  hot  summer  night,  and  if  you  girls  will  just 
come  in  and  smoke  them  out,  it  will  be  a  great  favor  to  me.”  So 
we  had  to  follow  after  her,  in  our  liigh-top  boots,  and  there  we 
sat,  as  imperturbable  as  we  knew  how  to  be,  but  with  very  height¬ 
ened  color,  I  am  sure,  and  she  insisted  on  our  smoking,  while 
she  threw  up  the  windows  and  drove  before  her  the  fluttering 
mosquitoes.  She  never  alluded  to  the  subject  afterward,  neither 
reported  nor  reproved  us,  for  she  wisely  reasoned  that  the  charm 
in  all  we  were  doing  was  the  dare-devil  character  of  the  perform¬ 
ance,  and  that  if  it  was  treated  as  a  very  commonplace  affair,  this 
charm  would  soon  be  gone. 

My  Bible  class  teacher  at  this  time  was  Mrs.  Governor  Bev¬ 
eridge,  who  had  a  very  happy  way  of  presenting  the  truths  of 
Christianity,  for  she  did  not  speak  in  a  canting  tone  or  use  cer¬ 
tain  prescribed  forms.  She  was  so  fortunate  as  to  be  able  to  talk 
of  sacred  things  in  a  pleasant,  companionable  way  that  used  to 
be  quite  rare  in  Christian  people. 

Our  Minerva  Society  was  the  literary  pet  of  the  college,  and 
the  debates,  essays  and  literary  papers  to  which  its  ‘  ‘  Publics  ’  ’ 


1 18 


A  Quick  Tc7npcr. 


gave  rise,  are  still  familiar  in  triy  memory  as  household  words. 
For  these  occasions  I  was  wont  to  prepare  the  poetic  effusions, 
which,  fortunately,  were  chiefly  confined  to  that  early  period  of 
my  development. 

Following  the  fashion  of  my  home,  I  asked  Professor  for 
ground  enough  to  make  a  little  flower  garden.  The  idea  was 
popular  and  soon  each  girl  in  my  set  had  her  own  little  garden 
spot,  where* we  worked  each  day  like  beavers,  vying  with  each 
other  as  to  whose  flowers  should  be  the  best  kept  and  most 
attractive. 

I  do  not  remember  often  losing  my  temper  during  my  stay  at 
the  college,  and  never  so  far  as  the  teachers  were  concerned,  save 
when  in  an  examination  in  Silliman’s  chemistry,  after  I  had  borne, 
as  I  knew,  a  successful  part  in  the  recitation,  nearly  every  other 
member  of  the  class  was  sent  to  the  front  to  perform  an  experi¬ 
ment,  writing  the  formula  thereof  on  the  board.  Knowing  that  I 
was  “  well  up  ”  in  the  entire  list,  I  went  to  my  room  unspeakably 
angry  with  what  I  considered  the  favoritism  of  the  oversight,  and 
expressed  myself  with  so  much  freedom  that  my  sister  Mary,  as 
usual,  called  me  to  order.  ■  Another  display  occurred  when  my 
diploma  came  home,  my  sister  having  received  it  in  my  stead,  as 
I  was  confined  to  my  room  at  the  time  in  the  convalescence  that 
followed  an  attack  of  typhoid  fever.  Finding  that  the  diploma 
was  totally  blank  when  I  had  been  expecting  to  see  it  filled  out 
in  due  form,  and  counting  so  much  on  the  pleasure  of  it  all,  I 
tossed  it  out  of  the  window  with  an  exclamation  of  utter  disgust. 

Commencement  Day  in  the  old  church  was  a  great  day  in¬ 
deed.  We  exhausted  ourselves  on  decoration,  a  profuse  growth 
of  evergreens  in  the  then  primitive  Evanston  favoring  our  plans. 
An  immense  stage  was  built  out  and  over  the  pews,  and  under  a 
beautiful  arch  stood  the  performers.  I  shall  never  forget  the  day 
in  June  of  1858  when,  although  I  was  not  a  Senior,  I  was  put 
down  on  the  program  for  an  essay  that  I  duly  wrote  and  delivered, 
nor  the  inward  tumult  of  delight  as  the  bouquets  from  all  parts 
of  the  house  fell  at  my  feet,  the  gifts,  no  doubt,  of  my  loyal  set  of 
‘  ‘  Ne’  er-do-weels.  ’  ’ 

An  amusing  letter  from  my  father  to  his  daughters  when 
they  were  at  school  in  Evanston,  gives  a  glimpse  behind  the 
scenes  : 


“It  Lacks  Force.” 


119 

Mary,  my  dear,  you  will  find  inclosed  my  scribblings  in  response  to  your 
request,  but  you  must  not  copy,  but  take  any  thought,  or  suggestion,  or  illus¬ 
tration,  which  seems  to  correspond  with  the  genius  of  your  piece.  Frances 
must  help  you  to  select  and  arrange.  I  think  the  whole  thing  of  “  doubtful 
tendency.” 

Frances,  your  letter  of  eighteen  dollars’  notoriety  nearly  upset  my 
equanimity,  and  I  was  on  the  point  of  sending  for  you  to  come  home,  but 
upon  second  thought  concluded  to  forward  six  dollars  to  Miss  Dickinson  to 
buy  the  material  for  your  dresses,  wnich  wfill  be  amply  sufficient,  and  more 
too.  As  for  the  sashes,  I  shall  buy  them  here,  if  necessary.  I  am  some¬ 
what  at  a  loss  whether  or  not  to  ask  Professor  Jones  whether  he  prefers  to 
have  your  tuition  and  board  bills  paid,  or  to  have  twenty  or  thirty  dollars 
paid,  to  fix  you  up  in  white  for  the  Commencement !  I  am  quite  sure  what 
his  choice  w7ould  be.  The  fact  is,  I  have  no  money.  I  have  sold  some 
wTheat  for  fifty  cents  per  bushel  to  get  money  for  actual  necessaries.  “You 
can’t  have  more  of  a  cat  than  her  skin.”  Candy  !  Candy  !  Candy  !  Mary 
looks  ominous.  What  shall  I  say  ?  Wheat  at  fifty  cents  per  bushel  to  buy 
candy  for  farmers’  daughters  !  !  !  Eighteen  dollars  !  My  horrors  !  That  is 
a  pretty  serious  prelude  to  the  perpetuation  of  college  honors.  I  am  done 
and  say  no  more.  Mary’s  letter  is  all  right,  Frances  says,  except  that  “it 
lacks  force.”  Mary,  you  had  better  write  all  the  letters  if  the  force  comes 
to  me  in  this  shape  !  All  in  tolerable  health.  Bridget  “  sings  praises  ”  and 
Mike  says  “  Oh,”  and  John  looks  amazed  as  they  hear  of  all  }rour  goings  on. 

Your  Affectionate  Father. 

The  various  teachers  that  I  had  before  I  was  converted,  were 
all  excellent  men  and  women  and  all  Christians.  I  saw  nothing 
in  their  conduct  to  make  me  doubt  this,  but  as  far  as  I  can  recall 
not  one  of  them  ever  spoke  to  me  on  spiritual  things  other  than 
indirectly,  except  Mrs.  W.  P.  Jones.  She  came  to  my  room  one 
night  when  I  belonged  to  the  class  of  “wild  girls,”  talked  to  me 
in  the  gentlest  and  most  tender  way,  not  reprovingly,  for  I  was 
by  no  means  an  outbreaking  sinner,  only  had  a  happy-go-lucky, 
reckless  spirit  full  of  adventure,  at  least,  as  far  as  she  knew,  for 
we  girls  were  apt  to  put  the  best  foot  foremost  to  the  teachers 
always.  Before  leaving  she  asked  if  she  might  pray  with  me.  I 
told  her  I  would  be  very  glad  to  have  her,  whereupon  we  knelt 
down  beside  my  bed  and  with  her  arm  around  me  she  prayed 
earnestly  that  I  might  be  led  to  see  the  light  and  do  the  right. 
I  am  sure  that  every  school-girl  if  approached  as  wisely  and 
sincerely  as  I  was  by  that  good  and  noble  woman,  would  respond 
as  gratefully  as  I  did.  Teachers  lose  very  much  when  they  fail 
to  utilize  the  good-will  they  have  enlisted  for  the  good  of  the 
cause  to  which  they  are  devoted. 


120 


No  Interpreter  Needed. 


A  few  years  since,  Professor  Jones  wrote  out  his  recollections 
of  me  as  a  student  in  respect  to  the  vital  question  of  Christianity. 
He  did  this  a  quarter  of  a  century  after  I  was  his  pupil,  and 
though  he  is  mistaken  as  to  some  of  the  dates,  the  general  histor¬ 
ical  statements  of  his  letter  have  afforded  me  much  consolation, 
and  I  reproduce  them  here,  disclaiming  all  responsibility  for  his 
too  generous  and  partial  estimate  of  his  old  pupil.  This  was  the 
last  paper  penned  by  him  : 

You  have  requested  me  to  contribute  a  few  reminiscences  of  Miss 
Frances  B.  Willard  and  her  sister  Mary  when  students  at  the  Northwestern 
Female  College.  Those  are  memories  very  precious  to  me,  and  some  of 
them  I  will  gladly  sketch,  so  far  as  I  can  do  it  in  words.  How  certainly  I 
know,  however,  that  I  must  fail  to  give  them  to  you  with  the  freshness  and 
inspiration  of  life  ! 

In  the  first  of  these  Willard  memories,  I  recall  only  the  father — a  man 
of  singularly  original  manner  and  expression.  Always  urbane  and  polite^ 
while  always  observing,  he  was  as  full  of  inquiry  on  almost  every  topic  as  a 
novice,  yet  ready  at  any  moment  to  express  an  opinion  on  nearly  any  sub¬ 
ject  in  thought  and  language  breathing  the  fragrance  of  originality.  Fie 
came  to  inspect  the  institution  for  himself  before  placing  his  daughters  in 
it.  He  had  evidently  caught  the  prophecy  that  they  were  to  make  the 
world  better,  and  was  determined  to  aid  them  all  he  could.  He  told  with 
natural  pride  of  the  prize  taken  by  Frances  for  the  best  essay  read  at  the 
State  Fair  of  Illinois  — a  truly  meritorious  producticn^-and  described  her 
so  fully  that  when  she  entered  college  I  needed  no  interpreter  of  her  state 
of  mind  and  character.  She  had  reached  an  age  when  every  old  belief  was 
required  to  give  a  reason  for  being  retained,  or  else  was  told  to  stand  aside. 
Many  of  father’s  and  mother’s  teachings,  once  accepted  without  question, 
were  being  quietly  subjected  to  further  inquiry.  Fragments  of  sopho- 
morean  eloquence  from  a  neighboring  college,  questioning  nearly  everything 
in  morals  taught  by  college  professors  or  believed  by  the  Christian  world, 
had  reached  her  ears  and  helped  to  excite  her  doubts.  The  parents  had 
hitherto  attended  to  her  instruction  in  a  modebway  under  their  own  roof; — 
the  mother  being  by  heredity  a  teacher,  and  by  education  and  experience 
unusually  fitted  to  lay  the  foundations  of  her  children’s  education  deep  and 
broad.  But  the  time  had  come  when  Frances  longed  to  go  to  college,  and 
the  parents  were  convinced  that  it  was  fully  time  to  place  her  under  other 
instructors  than  themselves,  and  to  let  her  contend  in  all  the  higher 
branches  of  study  with  minds  of  her  own  age. 

When  the  daughters  entered  college,  what  I  had  learned  of  the  father, 
kept  closely  locked  in  my  own  breast,  was  of  priceless  service  to  me  in 
giving  direction  to  other  members  of  the  faculty,  as  well  as  in  my  own 
treatment  of  them. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  discover  the  taste  of  Frances  as  regarded  studies. 
She  would  take  mathematics  as  a  disagreeable  mental  tonic  recommended 


“  She  Doubted  Her  Doubts 


1 2  I 


by  the  learned  of  all  ages.  The  sciences  drew  her  strongly,  and  won  close 
study,  but  her  delight  wa9,  first  the  Belles-lettres  studies,  and  then,  as  she 
advanced  in  her  course,  mental  and  moral  science  and  the  argumentative 
Butler’s  Analogy. 

From  the  day  she  entered,  she  made  friends  rapidly.  Among  the  stu¬ 
dents,  she  was  an  emotional  and  intellectual  loadstone.  They  loved  to 
cluster  around  her  and  hear  her  talk.  She  would  set  them  to  discoursing 
on  subjects  quite  out  of  the  ordinary  range  of  college  girls’  conversations, 
interspersing  her  own  wise,  quaint  and  witty  speeches,  to  the  great  delight 
of  her  listeners.  Possessed  of  a  worthy  ambition  to  live  for  a  purpose,  she 
inspired  the  same  feeling  in  many  of  her  school-mates.  Her  lively  imagina¬ 
tion  drew  plans  for  the  future,  not  only  of  herself  but  of  those  around  her, 
into  -which  they  entered  with  a  spirit  that  showred  itself  in  all  their  work. 
If  they  built  castles  in  Spain,  they,  nevertheless,  laid  foundations  for  char¬ 
acter  and  future  achievement  in  real  life,  which  endured  long  after  their 
airy  visions  passed  away,  as  their  lives  since  have  well  attested. 

Though  inclined  to  be  reticent  in  presence  of  the  older  teachers,  it  w7as 
not  long  before  her  novel  questions  and  original  remarks  in  the  recitation 
rooms,  uttered  in  the  agreeable  spirit  she  always  manifested,  won  the  hearts  of 
all  the  faculty.  Very  soon  what  proved  to  be  a  life-long  attachment  grew  up 
between  her  and  one  of  the  junior  teachers,  Lydia  M.  Hayes,  subsequently 
that  devoted  missionary  to  India,  Mrs.  Rev.  Dr.  Waugh.  The  influence  of 
the  sweet,  consistent,  Christian  life  of  this  excellent  woman  worked  as  a 
constant  rebuke  to  any  doubts  Miss  Willard  might  have  of  the  truth  of 
Christianity. 

Imagine,  if  possible,  with  what  joyful  surprise  these  two  congenial  spirits 
met  years  afterwards  in  far-off  Egypt,  as  Miss  Willard  was  making  her  pil¬ 
grimage  to  Palestine  and  Mrs.  Waugh  was  returning  with  her  children  from 
India.  One  moment  the  hotel  register  revealed  to  Miss  Willard  the  fact 
that  Mrs.  Waugh  was  under  the  same  roof ;  the  next,  they  were  in  each 
other’s  arms.  There,  oblivious  for  the  time  being  of  the  monuments  of  fifty 
centuries,  eloquent  with  the  marvelous  history  which  fills  that  wondrous 
land,  they  thought  only  and  talked  only  of  life  in  the  college  and  Evanston, 
and  of  the  friends  of  college  days. 

From  the  first,  I  was  concerned  to  learn  whether  in  the  gatherings  of 
students  in  her  room  and  elsewhere  Miss  Willard  was  disseminating  skep¬ 
tical  notions.  I  soon  ascertained  that  her  skepticism  was  of  a  mild  form. 
Most  of  all,  she  doubted  all  her  doubts,  and  in  regard  to  other  students,  was 
of  her  own  good  judgment  pursuing  very  nearly  the  course  I  would  have 
advised.  Of  course,  it  was  impossible  for  one  so  frank  as  she  to  conceal  her 
doubts  altogether,  although  she  did  not  try  to  foster  them  in  others.  One 
day,  one  of  her  dearest  friends  came  to  me  exclaiming, 

“What  a  queer  girl  Frank  Willard  is!  She  won’t  confess  that  she 
knows  or  believes  anything.  She  says  she  does  n’t  know  whether  there 
is  a  God,  and  she  does  n’t  know  whether  the  Bible  is  true ; — she  is  trying 
to  find  out.” 

“  Don’t  be  distressed,  Mattie,”  I  said,  “  if  she  will  only  keep  on  tryiug 


122 


There  is  a  God." 


<  < 


to  find  out,  she  will  find  out.  All  her  friends  have  to  do,  is  to  pray  that  she 
may  persevere. ” 

There  were  students’  prayer  meetings,  class  meetings,  and  missionary 
meetings,  revivals  came  and  went,  and  fewT  except  Miss  Willard  failed  to 
take  lively  interest  in  them.  Still  I  was  confident  that  she  was  not  indiffer¬ 
ent.  She  never  scoffed  at  others’  piety,  never  sought  to  deter  any  one,  but 
abvays  encouraged  her  friends  to  do  what  they  believed  was  right.  At  the 
same  time,  it  wras  evident  that  she  was  not  one  to  be  brought  into  the  faith 
by  the  mere  entreaties  and  importunities  of  her  friends,  and  I  discouraged 
attempts  of  that  kind.  And  yet  the  incident  so  tenderly  recalled  by  Miss 
Willard  in  one  of  her  addresses  when  she  spoke  of  Mrs.  Jones  as  the  only 
teacher  who  had  ever  gone  to  her  room,  and,  putting  an  arm  about  her,  asked 
her  to  let  her  pray  for  her,  shows  how  deeply  she  appreciated  any  manifesta¬ 
tions  of  interest  in  her  spiritual  welfare. 

Miss  Willard  grew  dearer  to  all,  and  every  one,  teachers  and  students, 
grew  prouder  of  her  as  she  moved  on  to  what  we  knew  would  be  a  brilliant 
graduation.  Her  intellectual  lineaments  had  grown  stronger,  and  shone 
brighter,  and,  best  of  all,  the  unrest  of  doubt  seemed  to  be  disappearing. 
It  began  to  be  remarked  by  teachers  that  she  took  more  interest  in  the  col¬ 
lege  religious  meetings,  attending  them  without  solicitation. 

We  wTere  reviewing  Wayland’s  Moral  Science,  preparatory  to  the  final 
examinations.  I  entered  the  class  without  a  book,  and  having  occasion  to 
ask  for  one,  Miss  Willard  handed  me  hers.  It  opened  of  itself  at  the  begin¬ 
ning  of  the  chapter  on  “Virtue,”  and  on  the  blank  half  page  opposite,  I 
read  (as  nearly  as  I  can  recall  the  words)  the  following  memorandum  : 
“When  I  began  this  study,  I  could  not  say  whether  there  wTas  a  God  or 
no— and  if  there  wr as,  whether  He  cared  for  me  or  not.  Now,  thanks  to 
President  Wayland  and  my  faithful  instructors,  I  can  say  from  my  heart  I 
believe  that  there  is  a  God,  and  that  He  is  my  Father.” 

I  exchanged  glances  with  Frances,  and  sat  silent  until  the  mist  of  joy 
cleared  away  from  my  eyes,  and  the  swelling  of  my  heart  subsided  enough 
to  allow  me  to  proceed  with  the  recitation.  The  students  began  to  look  at 
each  other  in  surprise  ;  then  I  poured  questions  in  upon  them,  and  in  the 
midst  of  question,  answer  and  discussion,  the  unusual  opening  of  the  recita¬ 
tion  was  overlooked. 

Of  course,  I  seized  the  first  opportunity  to  tell  Miss  Willard  howT  over¬ 
joyed  I  was  to  learn  that  she  had  escaped  from  her  doubts,  and  how  much 
I  hoped  she  would  soon  frankly  acknowledge  her  Pleavenly  I'ather  before 
the  world,  and  zealously  work  for  Him. 

“  She  did  not  know  that  there  was  a  God  ;”  “  she  did  not  know  that  the 
Bible  was  true;  ”  “she  was  trying  to  find  out.”  The  Divine  Spirit  had  led 
her  on  in  her  search.  The  many  influences  of  the  college  had  aided  her, 
and  the  child  of  God  had  felt  her  way  back  to  His  arms.  Father’s  and 
mother’s  teachings  were  holy  truths  to  her  once  more. 

Weeks  passed  on — weeks  full  of  the  arduous  labors  preceding  the  col- 
lege  Commencement,  absorbing  the  minds  and  hearts,  and  consuming  the 


Faith  for  Doubt. 


123 


days  of  teachers  and  students.  Miss  Willard  was  as  busy  as  the  rest,  yet, 
unknown  to  us,  a  subject  of  still  greater  importance  commanded  her  chief 
concern. 

It  was  Sunday  evening.  A  large  congregation  in  the  Methodist  church 
had  listened  to  an  ordinary  sermon  and  seemed  somewhat  impatient  for 
dismissal,  when  the  pastor,  to  the  surprise  of  every  one,  extended  an  in¬ 
vitation  to  those  who  wished  to  unite  with  the  church  on  probation  to 
meet  him  at  the  altar.  The  revival  wave  of  the  last  winter  had  rolled  by  ; 
there  had  been  no  special  meetings ;  not  a  ripple  of  religious  excitement 
was  discoverable  on  the  smooth  current  of  the  church.  Under  the  circum¬ 
stances,  no  one  was  expected  to  respond  to  the  pastor’s  invitation.  A 
moment’s  pause,  and  a  single  young  woman  moved  out  into  the  main  aisle 
and  with  a  firm  step  approached  the  altar.  Instantly,  all  eyes  converged  on 
her.  There  was  110  mistaking  that  form  and  face  ;  it  was  Miss  Willard.*  No 
sign  or  faintest  token  of  doubt  clouded  that  countenance  now.  There  was 
that  firm  expression  of  the  features  which  clinches  faith,  and  says,  “  Here  I 
stand.  I  can  do  no  other.”  The  effect  on  the  congregation  was  electrical. 
For  a  few  moments  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion  held  all  other  feelings  in 
check,  but  soon  hundreds  of  faces  turned  to  hundreds  of  others,  filled  with 
surprise  and  joy,  and  many  an  eye  was  moist  with  tears.  Some  one  began 
the  doxology,  “  Praise  God,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow,”  and  it  was  sung 
as  if  the  very  stars  were  expected  to  join  in  the  chorus. 

Of  Mary  Willard  I  shall  write  but  little.  That  charming  memoir, 
prepared  by  her  devoted  sister,  through  which  she  still  lives  and  works 
with  saving  power,  “Nineteen  Beautiful  Years,”  reveals  her  pure,  loving 
nature  so  transparently  and  faithfully  that  I  can  not  do  better  than  refer  to 
the  latter  part  of  it,  immediately  preceding  her  final  sickness,  to  point  out 
Mary  Willard  as  known  to  her  college  teachers.  From  the  first,  it  was  easy 
to  read  in  her  serene,  open,  intelligent  face  that  she  was  less  troubled  about 
faith  than  works.  She  was  a  close  student,  punctual  in  her  performance  of 
all  her  duties  as  the  coming  of  the  days  and  hours.  After  the  parents 
removed  to  Evanston,  and  she  had  to  brave  all  kinds  of  weather  between 
home  and  college,  this  punctuality  seemed  still  more  remarkable.  But  it 
was  not  merely  her  studies  that  engaged  her  mind  ;  ways  of  making  others 
happy — particularly  her  friends  at  home  and  college  mates— occupied  much 
of  her  thoughts  and  time.  If  spiritual  doubts  came  to  her,  she  was  so  busy 
struggling  to  perform  what  was  her  duty,  that  she  lia'd  no  time  to  pursue 
them.  “  If  everybody  would  only  do  right,”  she  exclaimed,  “  that  would 
end  all  the  trouble  in  the  world,  wouldn’t  it?”  “Why  don’t  people  do 
more  to  make  the  world  good  ?”  She  had  an  extremely  sensitive  conscience 
rendered  quicker  and  stronger  by  her  constant  practice.  I  never  knew  a 
more  endowed  nature  ethically,  and  her  love  of  all  high  and  beautiful 
things  was  a  perpetual  delight  to  her  teachers  and  friends.  It  is  a  comfort 
to  know  that  this  bright  intelligence  lives  on  “in  minds  made  better  by  her 
presence  ”  the  world  around. 


♦This  was  one  year  later  than  Professor  Jones  supposed. 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE  FIRST  YEAR  OUT  OF  SCHOOL. 

This  period,  often  very  dull  and  sometimes  very  gay,  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  nature  of  the  graduate  and  the  sense  or  nonsense  of 
her  family,  is,  perhaps,  the  most  difficult  in  a  young  woman’s  life. 
She  has  not  yet  found  her  “  vocation.”  Friends  wait  and  watch. 
Materfamilias  fears  and  paterfamilias  hopes.  It  is  a  time  full  of 
unuttered  pathos  for  a  gentle,  refined  and  modest  girl.  The 
truth  is,  she  ought  never  to  be  put  into  a  position  so  equivocal  — 
one  whose  tendency  is  to  tinge  her  soul  with  at  least  a  temporary 
bitterness.  Girls  should  be  definitely  set  at  work  after  their 
school  days  end,  even  as  boys  are,  to  learn  some  bread-winning 
employment  that  will  give  them  an  independent  status  in  the 
world  of  work.  Better  still,  this  education  of  the  hand  should 
be  carried  on  for  both,  side  by  side  with  that  of  head  and  heart. 

But  these  high  views  had  not  dawned  on  the  world  in  my 
day,  so  for  two  years  after  my  graduation  I  stayed  at  home,  with 
three  brief  intervals  of  school  teaching.  My  journals  show  that 
the  unfailing  resource  of  books  and  pen  kept  me  in  pretty  good 
heart,  while  our  delightful  home  life,  rounded  into  completeness 
by  my  brother’s  return  from  college,  rose  “like  the  swell  of 
some  sweet  tune,”  then  died  away  forever  in  the  pitiful  minor 
strains  of  my  sister  Mary’s  death. 

September  28,  i860. — I  remember  that  I  used  to  think  myself  smart.  I 
used  to  plan  great  things  that  I  would  do  and  be.  I  meant  to  become 
famous,  never  doubting  that  I  had  the  power.  But  it  is  over.  The  mist  has 
cleared  away  and  I  dream  no  longer,  though  I  am  only  twenty-one  years  old. 
If  it  be  true  that  wTe  have  need  to  say,  “  God  help  us  when  we  think  our- 

(124) 


An  Honest  Hour. 


125 


selves  strong,”  I  believe  that  the  opposite  is  equally  true  ;  nay,  that  we  need 
Him  most  when  most  distrusting  our  own  capabilities.  And  I  have  come 
to  this  point ;  I  think  myself  not  good,  not  gifted  in  any  way.  I  can  not 
see  why  I  should  be  loved,  why  I  should  hope  for  myself  a  beautiful  and 
useful  life  or  a  glorious  immortality  at  its  close.  Never  before  in  all  my 
life  have  I  held  myself  at  so  cheap  a  rate  as  since  I  came  home  this  last 
time.  It  is  a  query  with  me,  however,  whether  really  I  amount  to  so  little  as 
I  think.  I  can  not  quite  content  myself  to  belong  to  what  Dr.  Ludlam  once 
called,  much  to  my  disgust,  then,  “the  happy  mediocrity.”  Is  it,  then,  in¬ 
evitable  that  I  am  to  account  myself  one  of  the  great  “  commonalty  ”  during 
life  ?  Let  us  see.  Jump  into  the  scales,  F.  B.  W.,  in  honesty  as  before  God, 
and,  I  say  it  reverently,  you  shall  be  weighed.  What  you  believe  of  your¬ 
self  is  vital  to  you.  Let  others  think  as  they  will,  if  you  feel  “  the-victory 
in  you,”  as  my  father  says,  all  things  are  possible.  Then  deal  generously 
with  yourself ;  let  not  overweening  modesty  (of  which  I  think  you  never 
have  been  accused)  cause  you  to  pass  lightly  over  any  redeeming  traits  you 
may  possess.  Let  us  have  just  weights  and  measurements  in  all  respects. 
Beginning  at  the  lowest  and  yet  the  highest  department  (let  the  paradox 
go  unexplained),  you  are  not  beautiful,  pretty,  or  even  good-looking. 
There  is  the  bald  fact  for  you,  make  what  you  can  of  it.  And  yet  (offset 
No.  1,)  you  are  not  disagreeable  nor  unpleasant,  either  in  face  or  figure. 
You  have  no  shocking  defects  in  respect  to  personal  appearance,  and  that  is 
something.  Your  expression  is  perhaps  rather  resolute  than  otherwise,  and 
naturally,  perhaps  artfully,  you  tell  but  little  with  your  face.  In  manner 
you  are  reserved  toward  those  to  whom  you  feel  indifferent.  You  are  too 
much  inclined  to  moods,  and  yet  you  are  as  a  rule  exceedingly  careful  not 
to  wound  the  feelings  of  others,  and  you  intend  to  be  deferential  toward 
those  you  think  superiors,  kind  to  your  inferiors  and  cordial  with  your 
equals.  You  are  hardly  natural  enough  when  in  society,  and  have  a 
certain  air  of  self-consciousness  sometimes  that  ill  becomes  you.  However, 
as  you  think  much  upon  the  subject,  it  is  not  unlikely  that  by  and  by  your 
manner  will  assume  the  half  cordial,  half  dignified  character  that  accords 
best  with  your  nature.  You  have  a  good  mind,  but  one  not  evenly  balanced 
or  developed.  Your  perceptions  are  rather  quick,  your  memory,  on  the 
whole,  unusual,  imagination  good,  reasoning  faculties  very  fair  ;  your  judg¬ 
ment  in  practical  matters  not  extraordinary,  but  elsewhere  excellent.  Your 
nature  is  appreciative  ;  you  are  not  cross-grained.  You  feel  with  a  sur¬ 
prising  and  almost  painful  quickness.  An  innuendo  or  double  entendre 
smites  you  like  a  blow. 

Your  nature,  though  not  of  an  emotional  cast,  is  not  unfeeling.  You 
lack  the  all-embracing  love  for  man  as  man  that  is  so  noble  and  admira¬ 
ble,  yet  the  few  friends  that  you  count  among  your  treasures  have  more  devo¬ 
tion  from  you  than  they  dream  of,  doubtless,  for  your  love  for  them  approaches 
iJolatry.  And  yet  your  affections  are  completely  under  your  control,  are 
never  suffered  to  have  “their  own  wild  way,”  and  they  fix  themselves  only 
upon  those  objects  among  the  many  that  might  be  chosen,  where  they  are 
manifestly  desired.  As  for  your  will,  I  can  not  find  out  whether  it  is  strong 


126 


A  Playful  Mentor. 


or  weak.  I  hardly  think  it  particularly  powerful,  and  yet  there  is  something 
about  you  for  which  I  hardly  know  how  to  account  on  any  other  supposi¬ 
tion.  There  is  a  sort  of  independence  and  self-reliance  that  gives  the  idea 
of  will  and  yet  is  not  really  such.  However  the  facts  may  be  on  this  point, 
I  think  you  would  not  be  accounted  a  negative  character.  For  the  religious 
qualities  of  your  mind,  you  are  not  particularly  conscientious,  you  are 
rather  inclined  to  skepticism  and  sometimes  haunted  by  thoughts  of  unbe¬ 
lief.  The  aesthetics  of  Christianity  have  rather  a  large  measure  in  your 
creed,  both  theoretical  and  practical,  and  yet  you  have  right  wishes  and 
great  longings  after  a  pure  and  holy  life. 

The  conclusion.  Dear  me,  I  don’t  make  you  out  half  as  bad  as  I  feel 
you  ought  to  be.  Placed  in  the  scale  against  your  beautiful  ideal  character 
by  which  you  fain  would  mould  yourself,  you  would  kick  the  beam  quickly 
enough,  but  somehow  my  consciousness  affirms  that  the  picture  I  have  drawn 
has  not  all  the  shades  it  merits.  In  a  spasmodic  way,  you  are  generous,  yet 
beneath  this,  selfishness  is  deeply  rooted  in  your  heart.  You  are  not  a  bit 
natural ;  you  are  somewhat  original  but  have  not  energy  or  persistency 
enough  ever  to  excel,  I  fear.  However,  you  have  some  facility  as  a  writer ; 
less,  I  candidly  think,  than  you  had  a  year  or  two  ago  (that  is  encouraging)! 
Well,  on  the  whole,  I  do  not  seem  to  make  you  out  so  poor  and  common¬ 
place  as  I  thought  you  to  be,  and  perhaps  if  you  keep  your  eyes  wide  open 
to  your  faults,  and  God  will  help  you,  you  may  yet  come  to  be  rather  good 
than  bad.  For  this,  thank  God  and  take  courage.  But  oh,  forget  what  you 
will,  Frances,  my  best  friend  in  all  the  world,  ask  the  mighty,  infinite  Helper 
to  model  you  by  His  plans,  let  them  be  what  they  will ,  so  that  every  year 
you  may  grow  ‘  calmer  and  calmer,  ’  richer  in  love  and  peacefulness,  and 
forgetting  the  poor  dreams  of  less  thoughtful  years,  have  this  and  this 
only  for  your  ambition  ;  to  be  gentle,  kindly  and  forgiving,  full  of  charity 
which  suffereth  long,  and  patience,  which  is  pleasing  in  the  sight  of  God 
and  man. 

On  the  next  page  my  sister  Mary,  as  was  her  custom, 
skipped  into  my  journal  without  leave  or  license  and  wrote  the 
following  paragraph  : 

I  hope  Miss  Willard,  though  she  be  not  conscious  of  it,  does  not  hold 
herself  at  such  a  low  rate  as  some  of  the  foregoing  remarks  would  incline 
one  to  think  she  did.  When  she  calls  herself  neither  beautiful,  pretty  nor 
good-looking  I  think  she  errs,  as  I  am  of  the  opinion  she  does  come  under 
one  of  these  heads  ;  of  course  I  shall  not  say  which  one,  however.  I  think 
she  is  right  when  she  affirms  that  she  has  a  good  mind,  but  she  contradicts 
this  in  the  next  breath,  at  least  this  might  readily  be  inferred.  I  must 
say  that  in  her  dissertation  on  her  affections,  I  notice  nothing  that  would 
convey  to  the  average  mind  the  overpowering  affection  she  cherishes  for 
her  sister  !  It  may  have  been  modesty  that  prevented  her  from  mentioning 
this.  I  can  not  tell.  I  have  a  great  interest  in  both  these  young  ladies,  Miss 
W.  and  her  younger  sister,  and  though  my  heart  “yearns”  more  for  the 


Our  Room.. 


127 


younger  of  the  two,  I  can  not  say  but  that  nay  affection  for  both  is  un¬ 
bounded.  Hoping  that  Miss  W.  will  take  no  offense  at  my  remark,  I  remain, 
hers  very  truly. 

January  19. — I  have  united  (on  probation)  with  the  Methodist  church  be¬ 
cause  I  like  its  views  of  the  doctrines  taught  in  the  Bible  better  than  those 
of  any  other  branch  of  God’s  church  militant ;  because  I  have  been  reared 
in  it,  and  for  me  to  attach  myself  to  any  other  would  cause  great  sorrow 
and  dissatisfaction  in  quarters  where  I  should  most  desire  to  avoid  such  con¬ 
sequences,  other  things  being  equal.  I  honestly  believe  that  I  regard  all 
the  churches,  the  branches  rather  of  the  one  Church,  with  feelings  of  equal 
kindness  and  fellowship.  For  myself,  under  existing  circumstances,  I  pre¬ 
fer  the  one  to  which  I  belong,  but  that  a  person  belonged  to  that  church  and 
was  a  true  Christian,  would  be  to  me  no  more  of  a  recommendation  than 
that  he  was  a  true  Christian  and  belonged  to  any  other.  The  churches 
are  all  fighting  nobly  and  zealously  to  make  the  world  better  and  hap¬ 
pier.  Oh,  I  earnestly  pray  that  as  I  grow  older,  the  kindly,  all-loving, 
catholic  spirit  may  more  deeply  ground  itself  in  my  heart !  I  intend  to 
observe  all  the  customs  and  usages  of  the  church.  I  have  resolved  never  to 
be  absent  from  Sabbath  services,  communion,  Sunday-school,  prayer¬ 
meeting  and  class-meeting,  save  when  it  is  unavoidable.  I  will  talk  with 
any  person  upon  the  one  great  subject  in  the  world  whenever  my  prayer- 
guided  judgment  teaches  me  that  it  will  be  appropriate.  That  is,  when  it 
will  not  be  so  ill-timed  as  to  jar  upon  the  individual’s  prejudices  and  modes 
of  thinking,  so  as  to  be  the  means  of  ill  to  him  rather  than  good. 

January  30. — Mary  and  I  have  been  busy  from  morning  until  three 
o’clock  renovating,  changing  and  improving  our  room,  and  now  I  will  de¬ 
scribe  it.  In  the  southeast  corner  between  the  windows,  stands  my  desk,  with 
its  friendly,  familiar  look.  Once  it  was  father's,  but  I  have  owned  it  many 
years  and  it  has  seen  hard  service.  On  my  desk  lying  one  above  another 
are  Butterworth’s  “Concordance,”  Niebuhr’s  “Life  and  Letters,”  Watts 
“On  the  Mind,”  Carlyle’s  “Schiller,”  Mercein’s  “Natural  Goodness,” 
Karnes’  “Elements  of  Criticism,”  Boswell’s  “Life  of  Johnson,”  Tennyson’s 
“  Poems  ”  and  my  Bible.  Below  them  a  copy  of  The  Home ,  for  which  I 
write,  cousin  Lottie’s  portfolio  that  she  gave  me  and  which  I  use  for  my  un¬ 
answered  letters,  Webster’s  Dictionary  and  Blackwood' s  Magazine  for  May, 
1838,  which  contains  an  article  relating  to  insects,  that  I  wish  to  read ; 
my  sand-box,  microscope,  inkstand,  memorandum  paper,  pen-wiper  and 
a  cork  bristling  with  beetles,  “  Cicindella,”  “  Belostoma  Americana,” 
and  many  other  varieties,  though  by  the  way,  the  last  is  a  bug  and 
not  a  beetle.  Over  my  desk  hangs  an  engraving  of  Schiller,  and 
close  beside,  pasted  to  the  wall,  is  my  “program  of  daily  occupations,” 
which,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  is  an  illustration  of  the  form  without  the 
power.  Above  it  is  a  bit  of  excellent  advice  by  Dr.  Todd,  whose 
Student’s  Manual  I  have  very  much  enjoyed  “and  over  all,  softening,  mel¬ 
lowing,”  a  very  pretty  picture  of  a  flower-girl.  Suspended  from  the  upper 
part  of  the  casement  of  the  east  window,  by  a  straw-colored  ribbon,  is 
Gypsey’s  cage,  and  its  occupant  is  exhausting  himself  in  a  vain  endeavor  to 


128 


A  Temperance  Lecturer. 


collapse  the  tympani  of  Mary  and  me.  On  the  north  side  of  the  window 
Mary  sits,  inflicting  a  letter  on  our  mutual  cousin,  Sarah  Gilman.  She  calls 
the  affair  at  which  she  is  writing,  “  Her  book-case  and  desk.”  In  point  of 
fact,  it  is  a  pine-board  arrangement,  more  valuable  for  its  convenience 
than  for  its  beauty.  In  it  are  her  books,  on  it  her  portfolio,  diction¬ 
ary,  etc.;  over  it  a  photograph  of  the  Madison  State  Fair  grounds 
when  father  was  president;  a  Grecian  painting  representing  a  girl 
feeding  a  canary,  my  own  handiwork,  and  a  curious  piece  of  whittling 
by  Eben  Marcy,  a  boy  wre  knew  when  we  were  children.  In  the 
northeast  corner  of  the  room,  Oliver’s  college  cane  maintains  an  un¬ 
shared  supremacy.  Then  follow  the  closet  door,  and  one  of  the  parlor 
chairs,  over  which  hangs  a  beautiful  engraving  of  grapes  in  clusters ;  and 
then  there  is  the  bureau,  with  Mary’s  portfolio,  books  of  my  borrowing, 
daguerreotypes,  a  painting,  “Sunset,”  by  myself,  Mary’s  cute  little  basket, 
Oliver’s  hunting  knife  and  Sac  Gilman’s  drawing  of  the  house  in  which  her 
mother  and  ours  lived  when  they  were  children.  Over  all  this  is  the  mirror, 
grandly  looming,  surmounted  by  a  battered  and  shattered  statuette  in  plas¬ 
ter  of  Paris,  supposed  to  represent  Devotion.  This  record  is  made  in  view 
of  the  pleasure  it  will  give  me  to  read  of  these  passing  days,  when  more 
sorrowful  years  shall  draw  nigh. 

February  16. — Attended  last  evening  a  temperance  lecture  by  Parker 
Earle,  Chicago  agent  of  the  Illinois  Temperance  League,  I  believe.  It  was 
the  best  lecture  of  the  kind  I  have  ever  heard,  almost  the  only  one.  For¬ 
bearing  to  refer  to  orphans’  groans  and  bloodshed,  the  usual  material  on 
such  occasions,  he  reasoned  the  case,  dealt  chiefly  in  logic,  presented  inter¬ 
esting  statistics,  all  in  good,  even  elegant  language.  His  subject  was  the 
relation  of  government  to  society  and  temperance.  There  are  in  Chicago 
at  this  time  fifteen  hundred  shops  for  the  sale  of  intoxicating  liquors,  exclu¬ 
sive  of  those  which  sell  it  for  medicinal  and  mechanical  purposes.  Outside 
of  Chicago,  in  the  state  of  Illinois  there  are  five  hundred  such  shops. 
Twenty  million  dollars  are  annually  expended  in  Illinois  for  intoxicating 
drinks,  more  than  the  cost  of  all  the  schools  from  universities  to  district 
schools.  In  one  shop,  on  a  certain  day  in  Chicago,  $2,000  were  paid  in  for 
rum  in  its  various  forms.  All  this  was  astonishing  to  me.  Thus  we  go  011, 
one  half  of  the  world  knowing  not  how  the  other  lives. 

February  25. — Received  a  letter  from  Lillie  Hayes  Waugh,  describing 
her  home  in  India.  She  gave  me  the  Hindu  definition  of  woman  :  “That 
afterthought  of  God  which  was  sent  to  bring  woe  to  man  !  ”  That  single 
sentence  gives  the  key  to  India’s  awful  degradation. 

Have  resolved  that  neither  public  opinion,  nor  narrow-minded  pride,  nor 
any  other  creature,  shall  prevent  me  from  showing,  whenever  I  can,  kind¬ 
ness  as  delicate,  and  respect  as  genuine, v  as  I  know  how,  to  those  whom  the 
community  as  a  rule  treats  slightingly  or  with  positive  meanness.  If  I  do 
this  I  shall  be  of  value  to  the  world  whether  the  world  knows  it  or  not.  I 
shall,  I  think,  bring  some  happiness  into  troubled  and  wounded  hearts,  and, 
oh,  will  it  not  be  sweet  to  remember  in  the  hour  when  I  shall  most  need 
comfort,  the  hour  in  which  I  am  to  die  ! 


ffMW 


mtmM^ 

mMSIntc&<& 


Miss 


Bajaga 

,  |M 

j^r 

T^MT: 
\  H 

Mmm 

The  Civil  War. 


129 


Below  stairs  Dr.  Bannister  and  father  are  talking  of  secession,  the  cab¬ 
inet  and  the  prospect  of  civil  war,  topics  of  startling  interest  to  every  patriotic 
heart.  The  opinion  generally  expressed  is  that  a  collision  is  inevitable, 
and  will  occur  within  a  very  few  days.  God  pity  us  and  forgive  the  accu¬ 
mulations  of  crime  and  folly  that  have  brought  so  near  us  a  result  so  ter¬ 
rible  as  this  would  be. 

March  5,  1S60. — What  am  I  doing?  Whose  cares  do  I  relieve?  Who  is 
wriser,  better  or  happier  because  I  live  ?  Nothing  would  go  on  differently 
wdthout  me,  unless,  as  I  remarked  to-day  to  Mary  with  bitter  playfulness, 
the  front  stairs  might  not  be  swept  so  often  !  Now  these  are  awful  thoughts. 
But  come,  let  us  reason  together.  What  more  could  I  do  if  I  wrould? 
Mother  does  not  w7ork,  she  says,  more  than  is  healthful  for  her,  keeping  the 
front  room  in  order  and  giving  instructions  to  “  Belinda  ”  (father’s  invaria¬ 
ble  name  for  “a  lady  in  a  subordinate  capacity  ”).  There  are  no  younger 
brothers  and  sisters  to  be  cared  for  as  is  the  case  in  many  homes.  Bvan- 
ston  has  no  poor  people.  Nobody  seems  to  need  me.  In  my  present  posi¬ 
tion  there  is  actually  nothing  I  might  do  that  I  do  not,  except  to  sew  a 
little  and  make  cake  !  Now  that  is  the  fact.  I  may  acknowledge  a  feeling 
of  humiliation  as  I  see  so  plainly  how  well  the  wrorld  can  spare  me.  But 
perhaps  I  may  be  needed  some  day  and  am  only  waiting  for  the  crisis. 
Who  can  tell?  We  are  told  that  God  in  his  wisdom  makes  nothing  in 
vain.  Thus  having  moralized  I  lean  back  in  my  easy-chair  and  resume  the 
reading  of  Poe’s  ghostly  tales,  which,  with  a  little  twinge  of  conscience  at 
the  thought  of  my  uselessness,  I  laid  aside  a  moment  since. 

March  15. — Let  us  see,  mother  and  Mary  have  been  sick  but  are  get¬ 
ting  well  again.  Xantippe  of  the  kitchen  has  left ;  I  have  been  doing  the 
work  as  well  as  I  could  for  a  few  days,  and  now  a  gentler  spirit  rules  over 
the  culinary  department. 

April  20. — How  many  unwritten  romances  careful  observers  might  find 
in  the  lives  of  the  so-called  “  commonplace  people  ”  whom  one  meets  every 
day  !  A  story  as  powerful  as  Rebecca  Harding’s  “Life  in  the  Iron  Mills  ” 
might  be  woven  from  materials  I  wot  of,  the  characters  being  men  and 
women  w7ho  live  and  labor  within  a  circle  of  a  mile  from  where  I  sit  this 
minute,  men  and  women  whom  I  pass  on  the  street  now  and  then,  or  see  at 
church. 

A  hungry  soul  and  a  bruised  heart  are  objects  more  pitiful,  I  think,  than 
a  maimed  limb  or  abject  penury.  I  wish  my  mission  might  be  to  those  who 
make  no  sign,  yet  suffer  most  intensely  under  their  cold,  impassive  faces. 
The  pain  of  a  sensitive  nature  feeling  that  it  does  not  adequately  represent 
itself,  that  it  is  misapprehended  and  placed  below  its  deserts,  that  its  efforts 
to  rise  are  viewed  with  carelessness  by  the  most  generous  in  the  community, 
that  it  is  denied  companionship  with  those  whose  society  it  craves  or  feels 
that  it  deserves — no  words  can  measure  this.  These  people  whose  6ouls  sit 
on  the  ends  of  their  nerves,  and  to  whom  a  cold  look  or  a  slighting  wrord  is 
like  frost  to  the  flower — God  pity  them  !  This  world  is  a  hard  place  for 
natures  so  fine  as  theirs.  They  are  like  the  rare  porcelain  out  of  wdiich 
beautiful  vases  are  made.  The  coarser  natures  whose  nerves,  after  coming 
9 


130 


Neglected  and  Forgotten. 


to  the  surface,  bend  back  again,  can  no  more  comprehend  their  finely  con¬ 
stituted  brethren  than  I  can  conceive  of  a  sixth  sense.  This  non-recognition 
of  claims  she  was  too  sensitive  to  push  before  the  public,  pinched  the  face  of 
Mrs.  vS.  and  killed  her  at  last,  I  steadfastly  believe.  This  carelessness  and 
coldness  makes  B.,  splendid  fellow  as  he  is,  reserved  and  untrusting;  why, 
practically,  no  ones  cares  for  him  more  than  if  he  were  a  dog,  and  his  bur¬ 
rowing  place  is  a  matter  of  as  much  indifference  as  a  gopher’s  might  be. 
Mr.  A.,  a  man  of  fine  intellect  and  large  cultivation,  lies  year  in  and  year 
out  on  his  bed  upon  the  “Ridge,”  helpless  and  alone.  Who  goes  to  see 
him  ?  Who  tries  to  make  his  life  happier  or  more  endurable  ?  Who  tries 
to  lead  him  into  the  beautiful  life  of  the  heaven  we  talk  about  and  stupidly 
expect,  somehow,  to  gain?  What  winder  that  he  is  cynical  and  misan¬ 
thropic,  w'asting  the  years  of  middle-life  when  other  men’s  pulses  thrill  with 
strength  ;  shut  out  from  active  duty  when  his  need  for  w’ork  is  sorest ;  laid 
aside  in  the  darkness  of  his  curtained  chamber  and  left  alone  while  the  busy 
hum  of  life  goes  on  as  ever,  and  he  sees  he  is  not  counted,  neede<f  nor 
regarded  in  any  way.  He  hears  the  whistle  of  the  engine,  and  the  cars  go 
thundering  by  ;  the  college  bell  rings  every  hour  and  its  tones  fall  on  his 
listless  ear.  Teams  rumble  past.  He  hears  men’s  voices  talking  w'ith 
each  other.  All  this  comes  to  him  heavy  with  reproach  and  taunting  him 
with  the  unfulfilled  promise  of  his  youth.  In  summer  in  the  fields  he  hears 
the  click  of  the  reaper  and  knows  that  they  are  using  his  invention  ;  knows 
how  the  wonderful  automatic  hand  stretches  out  and  grasps  the  heads  of 
wdieat  that  the  sunshine  and  rain  have  ripened,  the  hand  so  human  in  its 
motion,  that  he  contrived  by  much  of  thought  and  study.  He  hears  quick 
steps  on  the  walk  under  the  window,  but  he  is  a  deformed  man  and  will 
never  w’alk  again  ;  thrown  from  a  carriage  in  Chicago,  years  ago,  he  w7as 
taken  up  as  dead,  and  since  then  he  has  done  nothing  of  the  work  of  the 
wTorld.  He  looks  into  the  fireplace  where  the  coal  is  kept  blazing  winter 
and  summer — his  only  company.  Does  anybody  think  God  takes  no  notice 
of  all  this  ? 

The  B.’s  who  are  kept  out  of  the  literary  society  by  the  unkindness  of 
some  of  its  members,  and  the  stupidity  of  the  rest ;  Miss  A.  w'ho  is  not  asked 
into  the  reading  circle,  where  it  is  her  right  to  be  by  virtue  of  the  exertion 
she  has  made  to  cultivate  and  enrich  her  intellect  and  character  ;  Mrs.  J., 
at  whom  a  shallow'  scliool-girl  could  laugh,  if  she  attempted  to  recall  the 
music  she  learned  years  ago  w'hen  better  fortunes  w'ere  upon  her  ;  Mrs.  M., 
who  is  disregarded  utterly,  though  refined  and  educated  ;  even  “  Ruth  Ann,” 
at  whom  we  laugh  unblushingly  —  all  the  cases  of  these  people  cry  to 
heaven  for  justice,  and  w'ill  have  it,  too,  at  last.  These  look  like  little  mat¬ 
ters,  yet  nothing  is  trivial,  as  Mrs.  Stowe  has  said,  “since  the  human  soul 
with  its  awful  shadow'  makes  all  things  sacred.”  Nothing  is  a  light  matter 
that  makes  my  heart  ache  or  the  hearts  of  any  of  my  human  kin.  God 
accounts  nothing  slight  that  brings  a  tear  to  any  eye,  a  stinging  flush  to  any 
cheek,  or  a  chill  to  the  heart  of  any  creature  He  has  thought  fit  to  make  and 
to  endow  with  body,  brain  and  soul. 

I  hate  the  spirit  in  any  one  that  seeks  to  gain  the  notice  of  the  influeu- 


A  New  Don  Quixote  Needed. 


131 

tial  in  society  by  fawning,  or  undue  attention  of  any  sort.  I  love  a  brave, 
jstrong  character  that  walks  the  earth  with  the  step  of  a  king,  and  an  eye 
that  does  not  quail  before  anything  except  its  own  dishonor.  All  can  not 
do  this,  but  there  are  some  who  can.  The  man,  woman  or  child  that  makes 
line  uncomfortable,  that  stabs  me  with  an  undeserved  reproach  or  rebuke, 
that  dwells  upon  my  faults  like  a  fly  upon  an  ulcer,  that  slights  me  or  need¬ 
lessly  wounds  me  in  any  way  — that  man,  woman  or  child  I  may  forgive,  but 
only  through  God’s  spirit  striving  with  my  wrath.  I  will  shun  them,  and  in 
my  heart  I  must  despise  them  and  this,  not  because  I  am  weak  or  clinging, 
according  to  the  views  of  some  people,  but  because,  be  I  weak  or  strong,  I 
will  stand'up  for  justice  so  long  as  I  have  power,  and  I  hereby  declare  that  I 
will  speak  more  kindly  and  considerately  to  those  whose  claims  are  unrec¬ 
ognized  by  the  society  in  which  I  live,  than  I  will  to  any  others.  I  will 
bowT  more  cordially  to  those  to  whom  persons  of  position  do  not  bow  at  all, 
and  I  will  try  in  a  thousand  pleasant,  nameless  ways  to  make  them  happier. 
God  help  me  to  keep  my  promise  good  ! 

Another  branch  of  this  same  subject  relates  to  those  who  live  among  us 
and  do  our  work,  perform  the  menial  services  for  us  that  we  think  ourselves 
too  good  to  do  ;  who  are  cared  for  as  we  would  care  for  the  dogs  and  horses, 
well  fed  and  wTarmed  and  promptly  paid,  but  spoken  to  with  harshness  often, 
treated  with  unreasonable  severity  as  if  they  had  not  brains  and  souls,  but 
were  animals  conveniently  gifted,  somehow,  with  the  power  of  speech. 
Who  says  kind  words  to  the  man  that  blacks  his  boots,  to  the  maid  that 
makes  his  bed  and  sweeps  his  hearth?  Who  employs  the  graceful  “Thank 
you,”  and  “Won’t  you  please,”  that  softens  down  the  sharp  tone  of  a  com¬ 
mand?  O  we  forget  these  things  !  We  are  just  mean  enough  to  disregard 
decency  and  kindness  in  the  cases  where  we  dare  to  do  it.  I  have  called  at 
houses  where  in  the  room  a  girl  sat  sewing,  more  beautiful,  graceful  and 
well-bred  than  my  hostess  ever  dared  to  be,  yet  she  has  taken  110  more 
notice  of  this  girl  than  if  she  wrere  a  brute,  nor  attracted  my  attention  to  her 
by  an  introduction  or  the  faintest  indication  of  one,  though  descanting  elo¬ 
quently  on  the  virtues  of  the  sleek  skye-terrier  at  her  side.  The  poor  and 
the  unlovely  fare  hardly  in  this  world  of  ours.  Climb  the  ladder  yourself  to 
enviable  distinction,  or  reach  a  comfortable  mediocrity  by  your  own  exer¬ 
tions,  and  you  will  be  treated  with  all-sufficient  consideration  ;  but  while 
you  are  climbing ,  look  only  for  cold  indifference,  at  best,  and  if  you  begin 
to  stagger  or  fall,  then  kicks  and  cuffs  will  shower  upon  you  with  an  energy 
surprising  to  contemplate.  Oh,  that  I  were  a  Don  Quixote  in  a  better  cause 
than  his,  or  even  Sancho  Panza  to  some  mightier  spirit,  wTho  I  trust  will 
come  upon  the  earth  some  day  ! 

April  21,  1861.  — On  this  beautiful  Sabbath  day  the  unusual  sound  of  the 
whistle  and  the  thundering  cars,  has  been  heard  for  the  first  time,  and  our 
thoughts  have  been  more  of  war,  I  fear,  than  of  the  God  of  battles  whom 
we  tried  to  worship.  It  is  twilight  and  soon  I  shall  go  peacefully  to  sleep, 
but  while  I  am  asleep  a  thousand  soldiers  will  pass  through  our  quiet 
village  on  their  way  to  “the  war,”  that  terrible  Something  which  hangs 
over  us  black  and  portentous.  Somewhere  in  Wisconsin,  and  on  the  broad, 


132 


Solemn  Vows. 


bright  plains  of  Minnesota,  mothers  and  sisters,  daughters  and  wives  will 
be  wTeeping  and  praying  to-night  for  these  soldiers.  God  pity  them  and 
give  them  peace. 

April  27,  1S61. — I  want  to  tell  how  with  all  their  beauty  sadness  has  been 
interwoven  with  these  bright  days,  for  Oliver  has  signed  the  pledge  that  he 
would  go  to  the  war  if  called  upon.  The  students  of  the  Theological  Insti¬ 
tute  have  organized  a  compauy  and  are  drilling  every  day,  preparing 
to  go  if  it  becomes  their  duty.  I  can  not  tell  how  my  heart  sickened 
and  was  rebellious  for  awhile  as  I  thought  of  what  might  be.  Went  with 
mother  and  the  other  ladies  to  the  Theological  school  to  attend  the  exer¬ 
cises  in  honor  of  the  banner  presented  to  the  students  by  Mrs.  Bishop 
Simpson.  We  enjoyed  it  greatly. 

May  5,  1861. — An  eventful  day  to  me-  Mary  and  I  publicly  declared 
our  determination  and  endeavor,  with  God’s  help,  to  live  as  Christians.  We 
w7ere  baptized  and  received  into  the  church  and  partook  of  the  sacrament. 
Those  were  solemn  vows  wre  took  ;  I  almost  trembled  as  our  voices  mingled 
in  the  responses  to  the  questions  asked  us.  I  felt  how  solemn  a  thing  it  was, 
how  awful  the  responsibility  that  would  henceforth  rest  upon  us,  and  yet 
the  ceremony  seemed  very  beautiful  to  me.  We  knelt  there  at  the  altar,  we 
whose  lives  and  hearts  and  thoughts  had  been  one  ;  it  was  most  fitting  that 
we  should  in  this,  as  in  everything,  be  together. 


ft 


PI  AN  OF  POKkST  HOME.  * 


IV 


&  Molung  Eearijer. 


“Talent  is  nurtured  best  in  solitude,  but  character, 
on  life’s  tempestuous  sea.” 


EVANSTON  COLLEGE  FOR  LADIES,  AND  LATER,  WOMAN’S  COLLEGE  OF  THE  NORTHWESTERN 

UNIVERSITY. 


1 


i  II 

: 


CHAPTER  I. 


DISTRICT  SCHOOL/  NO.  i. 

Not  to  be  at  all,  or  else  to  be  a  teacher,  was  the  alternative 
presented  to  aspiring  young  women  of  intellectual  proclivities 
when  I  was  young. 

Graduating  in  1859,  convalescing  slowly  at  Forest  Home 
that  summer  and  autumn,  studying,  reading  and  writing  all  win¬ 
ter,  I  grew  restive,  and  solemnly  determined  that  I  would  teach. 

Between  1858,  when  I  began,  and  1874,  when  I  forever  ceased 
to  be  a  pedagogue,  I  had  thirteen  separate  seasons  of  teaching,  in 
eleven  separate  institutions,  and  six  separate  towns  ;  my  pupils  in 
all  numbering  about  two  thousand.  In  my  summer  vacation  at 
Forest  Home,  1858,  I  taught  our  district  school ;  in  my  own 
home- town  of  Evanston,  I  taught  the  public  school  one  term  ;  in 
Harlem,  two  terms ;  in  Kankakee  Academy,  one  term  ;  in  my 
Alma  Mater,  the  Northwestern  Female  College,  two  ;  in  Pittsburgh 
Female  College,  three  ;  in  the  Grove  School,  Evanston,  one  year  ; 
in  Genesee  Wesleyan  Seminary,  at  Eima,  N.  Y.,  three  terms  ;  the 
Evanston  College  for  Ladies,  two  years;  the  “Woman’s  Col¬ 
lege,”  one  year,  and  I  was  a  professor  in  the  Northwestern  Uni¬ 
versity,  one.  Nor  did  I  ever  relinquish  any  of  these  situations 
save  of  my  own  free  will,  and  in  every  case  but  one,  I  had  from 
the  .  authorities  a  warm  invitation  to  return.  This  I  say  very 
gratefully  and  gladly. 

A  desire  to  learn  the  methods  of  different  institutions  and  to 
see  more  of  the  world  were  the  chief  motives  that  led  me  into  an 
experience  so  varied. 

It  is  also  but  fair  to  confess  that  routine  has  always  been  im¬ 
mensely  irksome  to  me,  and  to  be  “  tied  to  a  bell  rope,”  an  asphyx¬ 
iating  process  from  which  I  vainly  sought  escape,  changing  the 
spot  only  to  keep  the  pain. 

(133) 


134 


Starting  Out . 


I  was  determined  to  ‘ ‘  teach  school  ’  ’  because  I  wished  to  be 
independent,  so  I  wrote  a  letter  to  John  F.  Bberhart,  who  was  then 
superintendent  of  Public  Schools  for  Cook  County,  of  which  Chi¬ 
cago  is  the  county-seat,  but  it  was  a  little  late  in  the  season,  and 
he  replied,  advising  me  not  to  begin  until  fall,  saying  he  had  but 
one  school  left  and  it  was  the  least  desirable  of  all  upon  his  list,- 
away  on  the  prairie  beyond  Oak  Park,  in  a  little  red  school-house 
and  attended  almost  exclusively  by  the  children  of  foreigners.  I 
wrote  him,  as  soon  as  a  letter  could  return,  that  I  would  take  the 
school.  What  the  wages  were  I  do  not  at  all  remember,  but  they 
were  small.  Pie  gave  me  a  certificate  based  on  the  fact  that  I  had 
the  diploma  of  the  Northwestern  Female  College,  asking  no  ques¬ 
tions  and  charging  no  fee.  This  was  somewhat  irregular,  perhaps, 
but  at  that  date  these  questions  wTere  not  as  carefully  adjudicated 
as  they  are  now.  Professor  Eberliart,  as  we  called  him,  had  for 
years  been  editor  of  a  family  journal,  for  which  I  had  often  con¬ 
tributed,  and  he  knew  that  I  was  abundantly  qualified  from  a 
literary  point  of  view,  for  the  position  aspired  to  by  me  and 
deprecated  by  himself.  When  all  was  settled  I  informed  my 
father,  who  naturally  felt  humiliated.  He  was  a  business  man 
in  the  city,  having  joined  S.  A.  Kean,  now  a  well  known  banker, 
in  founding  a  brokers’  office  on  Clark  street,  nearly  opposite  the 
Sherman  House  ;  he  strongly  objected,  as  has  been  said,  but  I 
parried  an  argument  which,  while  it  has  very  little  force  in  these 
days,  had  a  great  deal  in  i860,  and  pleaded  with  him  to  let  me 
carry  out  my  purpose  of  bearing  my  own  weight  in  the  world. 

So  the  arrangement  was  made,  and  my  father  accompanied  me 
to  Plarlem,  for  with  his  ideas  of  the  protection  that  should  be  ac¬ 
corded  to  women,  he  could  not  conceive  of  my  going  there  alone, 
although  I  was  in  my  twenty -first  year.  When  we  alighted  at  a 
little  wayside  shed  which  served  the  purpose  of  a  station,  for 
there  was  no  town  there  then,  a  kind-faced,  but  rather  rough¬ 
looking  man,  with  long,  black  hair,  a  slouched  hat,  a  red  shirt 
rolled  up  to  the  elbows,  and  blue  overalls,  appeared  at  the  car 
and  said,  “Is  this  the  sell  oolm  arm  ?  I  am  school  director  and 
came  to  take  her  over  to  her  seminary,”  pointing  with  his  finger 
across  the  prairie  at  the  little  red  “  nubbin’  ”  of  a  school-house. 
My  father  looked  volumes  and  whispered  sardonically,  “  You  see 
what  you  have  got  yourself  into.”  A  return  train  for  the  city 


Novel  A  ristocracy. 


r35 


passed  soon  after  ;  he  took  it,  and  I  was  left  alone  with  my  new 
fortunes.  Arriving  at  the  school-house  I  found  the  boys  had  not 
been  idle.  Among  other  things  they  had  broken  several  windows 
and  engaged  in  sundry  forms  of  controversy,  emphasized  with 
fisticuffs.  One  or  two  American  families  were  represented,  the 
rest  were  of  different  foreign  nationalities.  I  knew  nothing  about 
teaching,  had  been  a  ‘  ‘  probationer  ’  ’  in  the  church  only  a  few 
weeks,  but  I  took  my  little  pocket  Testament  and  went  into  the 
school-house.  The  school  came  to  order  tolerably  well  ;  I  read  a 
few  verses,  led  them  in  singing  some  familiar  Sunday-school 
hymn,  which  they  seemed  to  know  quite  well, — I  think  it  was, 
“  I  want  to  be  an  angel !  ”  Its  incongruity  struck  me  so  forcibly 
that  I  could  easily  have  laughed,  but  in  a  moment  later  I  could 
easily  have  cried,  when  I  bent  my  head  to  try  to  pray.  But  to 
their  credit  be  it  said,  the  children  stood  by  me  far  better  than  I 
had  feared.  The  school  was  not  large,  having  some  fifteen  or 
twenty  scholars,  only  one  of  whom  was  so  insubordinate  as  to 
require  a  whipping.  He  was  a  boy  almost  as  tall  as  myself  and 
I  had  no  small  ado  to  hold  him  by  the  collar  while  he  did  his 
utmost  to  show  he  was  more  of  a  force  than  his  young  teacher, 
but  without  success.  Fathers  would  come  to  the  door  with  a  bit 
of  a  stick,  asking  me  to  beat  their  children  with  that  particular 
one,  which  was  the  only  form  of  aristocracy  recognized  in  my  in¬ 
stitution.  However,  there  was  small  need  of  discipline.  In  a 
few  days  the  children  would  sit  quietly  at  their  lessons  while  I 
solaced  myself  by  reading  Plato  and  other  philosophical  books 
with  which  I  had  taken  care  to  provide  myself.  I  went  through 
several  of  Bohn’s  translations  from  the  classics,  besides  a  variety 
of  lighter  reading.  In  every  wTay  I  could  devise  I  tried  to  inter¬ 
est  the  scholars,  and  I  think  they  enjoyed  the  school,  which  I 
certainly  did,  although  often  feeling  forlorn  as  I  opened  my  little 
dinner-pail  at  luncheon  time  when  they  were  all  playing  and 
hurrahing  outside.  It  was  not  what  I  would  have  chosen  in  life  ; 
indeed,  I  hardly  know  what  it  would  be  freely  to  choose  what 
one  would  like,  but  the  next  best  thing  is  to  like  what  one  must 
choose,  and  I  think  I  have  learned  that  art  quite  thoroughly. 
Next  to  the  New  Testament,  Epictetus  has  helped  me  beyond  all 
others  to  do  this  ;  I  mean  all  others  except  my  mother,  who, 
when  nearly  eighty-four  years  of  age,  said  to  me  one  day,  “  Did 


136 


A  New  Friend. 


you  ever  see  me  forlorn  ?  ’  ’  and  stoutly  claimed  I  never  had  ; 
which  is  true,  except  in  the  crises  of  our  family  bereavements. 

I  boarded  that  summer  in  the  family  of  David  Thatcher,  a 
returned  Californian,  who  was  the  richest  man  in  those  parts. 
He  was  an  American,  his  wife  was  English.  I  have  seldom  seen 
a  finer  head  than  his  ;  he  was  not,  however,  a  man  of  education, 
though  he  had  remarkable  native  force  of  intellect,  and  under 
happier  fortunes  might  have  been  a  senator.  His  wife  was  one 
of  the  kindest,  most  cheery  women  I  have  ever  knowTn.  Two  of 
his  sons,  George  and  David,  were  in  my  school  and  were  staunch 
friends  of  mine  ;  George,  then  sixteen  years  of  age,  being  as 
true  and  loyal  as  if  he  were  my  younger  brother.  I  think  his 
good  behavior  set  the  key-note  for  the  school.  He  was  a  very 
bright  scholar  and  is  now  a  lawyer  in  Chicago.  Mr.  Thatcher’s 
only  daughter,  Clara,  was  at  this  time  a  student  in  the  Chicago 
High  School,  a  girl  of  unusual  powers  of  mind,  and  a  genial, 
kindly  heart.  When  she  came  home  on  the  first  afternoon  and 
saw  a  demure  young  stranger  at  the  supper-table,  she  did  not 
know  whether  she  liked  it  or  not ;  on  the  whole,  she  thought  she 
did  not,  and  though  she  said  nothing,  her  atmosphere  was  some¬ 
what  chilly  on  that  bright  night  of  June.  It  is  my  nature  to 
withdraw  within  myself  when  the  environment  is  not  propitious, 
so  I  said  nothing  and  went  to  my  lonely  room  as  soon  as  possible. 
I  had  brought  my  writing-desk,  a  very  pretty  one  that  had 
belonged  to  father,  and  which  w^as  my  most  cherished  earthly 
possession,  except  a  little  Bible  given  me  by  a  favorite  aunt  who 
had  recently  died.  This  blessed  book  I  read,  and  opening  the 
desk,  I  placed  upon  the  shelf,  near  by,  the  pictures  of  my  nearest 
and  best,  and  looked  at  them  with  a  tugging  at  the  heart  such 
as  can  be  appreciated  only  by  those  who  remember  the  pang  it 
brings  when  endured  for  the  first  time.  Then  I  tried  to  read, 
and  tried  to  write,  but  the  time  hung  heavily.  I  did  not  cry,  for 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  not.  It  was  clearly  a  case 
of  “mind-cure,”  for  the  occasion  certainly  warranted  a  demon¬ 
stration.  Pretty  soon  there  was  a  rap  011  the  door  and  Miss  Clara 
came  smiling  in,  grasped  the  situation  at  a  glance,  spoke  to 
me  with  great  gentleness,  and  said,  “You  are  lonesome,  are  n’t 
you  ?  It  is  too  bad.  I  wonder  if  you  would  not  rather  come 
into  my  room  ?  ’  ’  From  that  hour  to  this  we  have  been  warm 


Courage  Rewarded. 


T37 


and  trusty  friends.  I  was  glad  to  leave  my  bare  little  room  for 
hers,  so  much  more  tasteful  and  attractive,  but  here  was  a  new 
dilemma.  I  knew  it  was  my  duty  to  kneel  in  prayer  before  re¬ 
tiring,  as  had  been  my  custom  all  my  life,  except  the  few  weeks 
of  my  first  term  in  Evanston,  but  I  knew  from  various  indica¬ 
tions  that  Clara  had  not  been  trained  to  do  this.  She  was  a  gay, 
laughing  girl,  and  I  dreaded  her  criticism,  but  when  the  time 
came  I  lifted  up  my  heart  to  God  and  fell  on  my  knees  beside  the 
bed,  feeling  myself  to  be  a  spectacle  and  with  a  sense  of  sacrifice 
which,  absurd  as  it  was,  cost  me  more  than  anything  had  done 
in  many  a  year.  But  in  a  moment  this  generous-hearted  girl  had 
knelt  beside  me  with  her  arm  around  my  neck,  and  from  that  hour 
she  became  thoughtful  concerning  spiritual  things.  She  helped 
me  found  a  Sunday-school  in  the  little  red  school-house,  which 
we  conducted'  all  summer  long,  and  out  of  it  grew  the  prosperous, 
well-ordered  Methodist  church  at  River  Forest,  once  Harlem,  of 
which  my  friend  and  her  husband,  Solomon  Thatcher,  well 
known  in  Methodist  circles,  have  been  pillars  for  many  a  year. 

This  incident  may  give  to  some  young  heart  the  courage  that 
is  needed  in  a  more  difficult  emergency  than  mine. 

When  I  went  home  toward  the  close  of  the  term  I  took  Clara 
along  and  we  had  a  delightful  visit,  she  being  henceforth  endeared 
to  every  friend  of  mine. 

It  pains  me  even  now  to  remember  how  grieved  my  sister 
Mary  was  that  she  could  not  teach  school.  She  graduated  the 
same  summer  that  I  began  my  work  as  a  teacher,  and  in  the 
autumn  she  had  an  invitation  to  be  an  assistant  in  a  private 
school,  but  she  was  the  pet  and  darling  of  the  house,  and  it  was 
not  strange  they  were  unwilling  to  have  her  go  from  home.  But 
I  have  seen  her  pretty  face  all  stained  with  tears  as  she  said  to  me, 
“  Oh,  to  have  earned  a  little  money  of  my  own,  my  very  own  !” 
and  I  have  seen  her  on  her  knees  praying  to  be  helped  and  guided 
out  into  a  larger  life.  So  she  was,  in  one  more  year,  but  in  a  way 
how  different  from  anything  she  dreamed  !  She  was  guided  out 
into  the  largest  life  of  all,  which  is  an  heavenly. 

The  voluminous  journals  of  my  earliest  period  as  teacher 
have  this  entry  : 

April  27,  i860. — Professor  Jones  informed  mother  in  my  absence  last 
.  evening,  that  he  knew  of  a  school  which  he  thought  I  could  get,  and  with 


138 


The  Call  of  Dufy. 


the  items  of  information  he  furnished,  I  sallied  forth  bright  and  early  this 
morning  to  learn  more  about  the  matter.  The  result  of  my  investigations 
was  a  letter  duly  composed,  copied  and  mailed,  inclosing  a  kind  recom¬ 
mendation  from  Professor.  I  hope  to  obtain  the  situation,  for  I  have  not 
yet  been  out  in  the  world,  to  “do  and  dare’’  for  myself.  Single-handed 
and  alone  I  should  like  to  try  my  powers,  for  I’ve  remained  here  in  the 
nest,  a  full-grown  bird,  long  enough,  and  too  long.  It  is  an  anomaly  in 
natural  history  ! 

This  school  was  at  Elk  Grove,  a  country  place  not  far  from 
Chicago.  The  next  entry  says  : 

April  30. — On  coming  home  from  Dr.  Foster’s  examination  of  his 
University  class  in  moral  science — which,  by  the  way,  Bishop  Simpson 
quizzed  unmercifully — I  found  a  letter,  stating  that  if  I’d  been  a  very  little 
earlier  I  might  have  secured  the  situation.  This  was  a  disappointment,  and 
one  so  hard  to  bear  that  I  said  several  harsh,  un-Christian  words,  for  which 
I’m  very  sorry.  I  then  wrote  another  school-seeking  letter  to  Prof.  J.  F. 
Eberhart,  wrho  is  Professor  Jones’s  friend,  and  superintendent  of  the  public 
schools  in  this  county. 

May  1. — Received  a  letter  from  Professor  Eberhart,  which  amounted  to 
but  little. 

May  22. — Another  letter  from  Professor  Eberhart  saying  that  he 
thought  he  had  secured  me  a  school.  It  is  very  kind  of  him,  for  I  ought  to 
be  earning  money  for  myself  and  doing  something  useful,  as  every  one  else 
is.  Of  course ,  it  will  be  very  hard  for  me,  for  I  am  not  “  used  ”  to  care  or 
trouble.  Evanston  is  a  beautiful  place  to  live  in,  and  those  I  love  best  are 
here,  but  I  would  rather  go,  notwithstanding,  and  I  think  God  helps  me  to 
say  with  truth,  “  I  would  rather  go  because  it  is  right  that  I  should,  and  be¬ 
cause  of  this  alone.” 

It  will  be  hard  to  leave  mother,  who  cares  for  me  as  no  other  human 
being  ever  can,  and  to  go  where  everybody  is  indifferent  to  me. 

The  first  school  is  a  greater  epoch  to  the  }^oung  teacher  than 
any  that  can  follow.  I  have  been  thus  minute  in  its  description, 
hoping  to  cheer  some  ‘  ‘  new  beginner,  ’  ’  to  furnish  some  suggestion, 
and  to  preserve  the  picture  of  a  school  within  ten  miles  of  Chi¬ 
cago,  yet  primitive  as  any  upon  Western  prairies.  Twenty-five 
years  later  I  went  back,  stood  upon  its  doorstep  like  one  in  a 
dream,  and  had  a  photograph  taken  of  “  the  old  place”  as  a  new 
gem  in  my  collection  of  “  antiques.”  As  my  brother  had  taught 
in  the  new  school-house  during  one  winter  vacation  (1861)  of  his 
theological  course,  and  I  had  followed  him  in  the  spring  of  that 
year,  I  went  there  also  with  my  kind  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Solo¬ 
mon  Thatcher,  and  we  formed  another  group,  in  which  the  young 


Character  vs.  Dignity . 


139 


lady  then  teaching  there,  my  dear  friend  Clara  and  her  husband, 
and  Anna  Gordon,  standing  beside  me,  illustrated  somewhat  the 
developments  of  history. 

Here  follow  journal  extracts  written  just  before  I  went  to 
Harlem,  and  while  there : 

May  19. — Yesterday  the  Republican  convention  at  Chicago  nominated 
Abraham  Lincoln  for  president  of  the  United  States.  I  wish  I  had  been  in 
the  Wigwam  when  this  was  done.  The  accounts  that  father  and  Oliver 
give  us  of  the  excitement,  the  hand-shaking,  handkerchief  wavings,  etc., 
have  made  us  very  enthusiastic.  They  say  men’s  hats  were  knocked  about 
like  foot-balls,  and  one  man  took  off  his  coat  and  waved  it.  They  say  we 
must  have  laughed  or  cried  if  we  had  been  there.  I  would  like  to  test  my¬ 
self,  to  try  my  self-control  in  some  such  way. 

May  27. — Father  asked  our  Heavenly  Father  this  morning  to  “make  us 
feel  the  responsibility  that  these  peaceful,  painless  hours  impose,  and  to 
help  us  to  prepare  for  the  storms  that  will  come,  we  can  not  say  how  soon.” 
I  have  thought  much  of  this.  But  now,  when  there  is  not  a  grief  at  my  heart 
or  a  shadow  on  my  path,  I  find  it  almost  impossible  to  lead  a  Christian  life. 
Just  what  I  need  is  discipline.  Sorrow  alone  can  melt  my  heart  and  make 
God  more  to  me  than  all  the  universe  besides.  I  want  to  be  right,  at  what¬ 
ever  cost,  and  so  I  feel  sure  that  if  I  am  ever  made  perfect  it  will  be  through 
suffering.  I  am  twenty  years  old  and  I  have  neither  dignity  nor  woman¬ 
liness,  I  am  giddy  and  thoughtless  as  much  as  I  ever  was,  I  verily  believe. 
There  is  something  I  can  hardly  define,  but  the  word  character  seems  to  me 
to  express  what  I  lack  and  what  I  must  acquire.  I  am  neither  self-reliant 
nor  self-contained.  There  is  not  that  about  me  which  those  of  my  age  ought 
alwTays  to  possess  and  which  causes  people  to  keep  their  distance,  a  certain 
wrell  defined  self-respect  that  is  not  haughtiness.  Belle  Stewart  had  it  and 
she  was  only  twenty  ;  Annie  Foster,  and  she  was  barely  eighteen  when  I 
used  to  see  her  last  summer ;  Lillie  Hayes  was  a  grand  exemplification  of 
this  element  that  I  find  missing  in  my  nature  ;  I  name  these  young  ladies  to 
you,  “myself,  ”  for  your  favorable  consideration.  Now,  while  it  is  a  shame 
that  I  am  not  as  they  are,  it  is  yet  but  little  wonder,  for  I  have  not  been 
brought  on  as  they  have  been.  They  have  seen  much  of  society,  have  at¬ 
tended  school  all  their  lives,  and  been  trained,  possibly,  to  dignity  of 
manner,  while  I  knew  no  more  of  society  than  a  baby  or  a  goose  until  I 
came  to  Evanston,  and  I  know  almost  nothing  now.  In  all  these  twenty 
years,  although  I  have  graduated  after  a  fashion,  I  never  spent  four  years  in 
school,  and  I  was  trained  to  live  outdoors  as  much  as  possible,  ride,  and 
walk,  and  garden,  and  go  fishing,  if,  peradventure,  my  life  might  be  spared 
to  me,  for  I  was  always  “  slender,”  as  my  mother  calls  it.  I  have  never  been 
out  in  the  world,  have  had  no  care  or  trouble,  no  grief  worth  mentioning,  no 
“  lovyer  ”  as  “  Bub  ”  says,  nor  any  love  affair  to  sober  me.  And  so,  since  I  am 
not  naturally  a  person  of  character, — why  should  I  be  one  at  all  when  the 
artificial  method  has  never  been  employed  in  my  case  !  I  am  determined  to 


140 


School  Plans. 


be  just,  if  not  generous,  with  myself ;  indeed,  who  has  a  better  right  ?  Now, 
I  am  sorry  that  I  am  not  more  like  my  ideal  young  lady,  and  I  am  anxious  to 
be  more  like  her  if  I  can.  But  I  must  get  my  discipline  in  a  rougher  school 
than  most  young  ladies  do.  I  see  clearly  that  I  shall  never  be  the  grown-up 
person  that  I  ought  to  be  until  I  have  borne  sorrows  and  had  cares. 

If  I  become  a  teacher  in  some  school  that  I  do  not  like,  if  I  go  away 
alone  and  try  what  I  myself  can  do  and  suffer,  and  am  tired  and  lonesome  ; 
if  I  am  in  a  position  where  I  must  have  all  the  responsibility  myself  and 
must  be  alternately  the  hammer  that  strikes  and  the  anvil  that  bears,  but  al¬ 
ways  one  of  them,  I  think  I  may  grow  to  be  strong  and  earnest  in  practice, 
as  I  have  always  tried  to  be  in  theory.  So  here  goes  for  a  fine  character.  If 
I  were  not  intent  upon  it,  I  could  live  contented  here  at  Swampscott  all  my 
days. 

It  is  quite  curious  that  just  as  I  wrote  the  last  word,  our  hired  man  came 
in  with  the  mail,  and  on  opening  a  letter  addressed  to  myself,  post-marked 
“Noyesville,  Harlem  Postoffice,”  I  found  the  words,  “You  may  consider 
yourself  engaged  to  teach  our  school.”  So  I  am  to  go  this  very  next  Satur¬ 
day  and  to  begin  my  hard  battle  for  myself  alone. 

May  29. — I  trained  the  vines  this  morning  ;  it  is  all  the  pleasanter  working 
around  home  since  I  am  to  leave  it  so  soon.  Professor  Bbbrhart,  school  com¬ 
missioner  for  Cook  county,  called,  and  I  went  with  him  to  visit  Minnie  Hol¬ 
comb’s  school.  In  the  afternoon  I  went,  under  the  same  auspices,  to  visit 
Miss  Automaton’s  school.  I  learned  very  much  from  what  I  heard  and  saw. 
The  two  teachers  were  as  different  as  light'  is  from  darkness.  Minnie  was 
patient,  kind  and  slightly  diffident.  Miss  Automaton  was  perfectly  cool, 
metallic  in  voice  and  manner,  and  calmly  despotic  in  government. 

May  30. — I  have  been  arranging  my  dear  old  desk  and  getting  ready  for 
my  departure.  Will  copy  here  what  I  have  learned  in  the  way  of  “rules  for 
conducting  a  country  school  successfully  ”  : 

1.  Never  let  your  pupils  feel  that  they  understand  you  or  know  what  to 
expect  from  you.  Be  a  mystery  to  them.  Invent  punishments.  Resort  to 
expedients  they  least  expect. 

2.  Demand  implicit  obedience  in  small  as  well  as  great  matters  and 
never  yield  a  point. 

3.  Introduce  general  exercises  when  practicable.  This  concentrates 
every  mind  on  one  idea,  and  when  they  all  think  alike  by  your  command,  you 
can  do  with  them  what  you  will. 

Memorandum. — Introduce  gymnastic  exercises — Miss  Beecher’s,  as  we 
practiced  them  in  Milwaukee.  Ever  so  much  singing,  those  chipper  ‘ ‘  rounds,  ’  ’ 
and  dear  old-fashioned  songs  I  used  to  sing  in  school.  Have  them  sing  the 
multiplication  table.  Have  them  sing  the  capitals  and  bound  the  states  so  as 
to  make  it  a  sort  of  game  and  less  distasteful,  while  they  point  out  the  places 
on  the  map,  a  la  Mrs.  Hovey.  Give  them  all  sorts  of  extra  lessons,  viz.: 
have  them  bring  flowers  and  name  the  parts  ;  teach  them  the  bones  of  the 
human  body  ;  the  rulers  of  all  countries,  and  as  many  other  things  as  I  can 
think  up  ;  all  this  in  concert.  Say  to  them  all  of  a  sudden,  “  You  see  now  I 


Good-by  Songs . 


x4r 

am  talking,  clap  your  hands  together.  Now  I  am  silent.  See  how  quickly  you 
can  fold  your  arms  ;  look  me  in  the  eye  and  be  perfectly  silent  for  one  min¬ 
ute  ;”  I  click  the  bell  and  note  your  wTatch.  This  trains  them  to  promptness. 

4.  Accustom  them  to  take  their  seats  for  recitation  at  the  right  moment, 
as  indicated  by  the  clock.  This  cultivates  attention. 

5.  Give  them  a  good  deal  of  outside  information  on  all  sorts  of  topics, 
to  liven  them  up  all  you  can.  Have  them  spell  on  slates. 

Miscellaneous. — Offer  no  prizes.  Read  the  record  of  the  deportment  and 
lessons  on  the  afternoon  of  literary  exercises  once  a  week.  Have  the  head 
and  foot  in  spelling  classes,  besides  slate  spelling,  have  them  toe  the  line  and 
put  their  hands  behind  them.  Have  No.  1  take  the  floor  and  call  No.  2  to 
come,  etc.  Have  them  number  as  they  take  their  seats.  Give  a  perfect  mark 
for  each  good  lesson.  Make  a  specialty  of  map-drawing.  Practice  reading 
classes  in  the  sounds  of  the  letters.  Have  them  learn  abbreviations,  Roman 
numerals,  words  pronounced  alike,  but  spelled  differently,  etc.  Draw  figures 
on  the  blackboard  and  let  the  little  children  copy  them  on  their  slates,  to 
keep  them  quiet.  Let  the  little  ones  go  out  and  play  a  good  deal  during 
study  hours.  Call  the  roll  at  the  close  of  school  and  have  them  report 
“Correct,  ”  if  they  have  not  been  absent  or  tardy,  then  let  the  boy  nearest 
the  door  go  out  when  you  call  his  name,  and  so  on,  having  them  leave  one 
at  a  time,  that  there  may  be  no  confusion.  Post  up  an  order  of  exercises  in 
a  conspicuous  place.  Have  everything  systematized  to  the  last  degree. 
Make  only  four  rules,  namely  :  “Don’t  be  tardy  ;  don’t  leave  seats  without 
permission;  don’t  be  absent ;  don’t  whisper  but  wink  at  the  latter  unless  it 
becomes  too  palpable.  Have  the  whole  school  as  far  as  possible  read  in 
concert,  from  time  to  time.  Have  the  more  mischievous  ones  sit  alone  and 
at  a  distance  from  each  other.  Make  out  a  list  of  general  questions  for  the 
whole  school  to  answer,  propound  them  to  two  divisions,  if  the  house  has 
four,  and  when  they  fail  have  the  others  respond,  alternating  in  this  way  to 
stir  their  emulation  and  enthusiasm. 

All  my  friends  are  very  kind  ;  they  bring  me  flowers,  write  me  notes,  invite 
me  out  to  tea  and  seem  to  be  sorry  that  I  am  going  hence.  Am  full  of  errands 
and  last  things  to  be  done.  Mary  and  I  had  just  retired  011  Saturday  night, 
when  Mary  Bannister  and  Kate,  Han,  and  Mollie,  and  Charlie  Smith,  and 
Mr.  Wood,  and  Watson  with  his  melodeon  formed  in  line  under  our  window 
and  they  sang  beautifully  for  my  sake,  because  I  am  going  away,  “  Auld  Lang 
Syne,”  “Sweet  Home,”  “Good-by”  and  two  or  three  other  pieces.  And  I 
lay  there  very  quietly,  I  who  have  not  shed  a  tear  since  last  September,  and 
cried  like  a  child  while  they  sang. 

Harlem,  Cook  County,  Ill.,  June  5. — I  could  not  write  last  night,  I  felt  too 
desolate.  After  leaving  home,  walking  from  the  Harlem  station  to  my  ugly, 
dismal,  red  school-house,  through  a  marsh  ;  riding  through  the  flying  mud, 
with  some  kind-hearted  ladies,  to  my  boarding-place  to  leave  my  trunk  ; 
walking  more  than  half  a  mile  back  to  my  den — for  it  is  nothing  else,  it  is 
the  most  comfortless  house  I  ever  saw  ;  going  through  the  tiresome  routine 
of  teaching  the  A  B  C’s,  spelling,  and  the  like  ;  helping  sweep  out  the  school- 
house — which  is  dirty  beyond  description,  with  broken  windows,  baked  floor, 


142 


Inside  and  Outside  Life. 


and  cobwebs  mingled ;  walking  home  again,  unpacking  and  arranging  my 
effects,  writing  out  my  order  of  exercises,  I  sat  down  very  tired  and  full  of 
heartache.  It  is  doubly  hard  for  me  because  I  have  been  sick  and  have 
done  very  little  for  a  year,  because  home  is  so  pleasant  and  everybody  so  kind 
to  me.  My  head  aches  as  badly  as  my  heart  to-night.  Somehow  I  am  afraid 
I  can  not  bear  it.  Father  came  out  from  the  city — it  is  only  ten  miles,  though 
it  seems  a  hundred — to  bring  me  a  bundle.  I  took  it  and  turned  away,  say¬ 
ing  in  answer  to  his  half  cheerful,  half  sad  words,  “  Keep  up  a  brave  heart 
and  don’t  let  it  discourage  you,”  “Good-by,  father,  I  am  not  afraid,”  but 
the  tears  blinded  me  so  I  could  hardly  see  to  go  back  to  my  teacher’s-desk 
again,  and  yet  the  people  here  don’t  know.  These  rough  school  directors 
don’t  dream  that  I  am  not  exactly  in  ecstasy  although  I  am  teaching  in 
“  their  deestrict,”  and  they  will  not  know  either,  never  fear.  I  turned  to  God, 
the  Heavenly  Father,  who  presides  over  our  destiny,  wTith  new  eagerness.  I 
prayed  last  night  as  I  have  not  for  many  days,  and  went  to  sleep  in  the  cold 
and  dark  and  lonesomeness  with  a  feeling  that  somehow  the  Arms  that  reach 
around  the  world  enfolded  me.  If  I  can  learn  to  look  to  Him  and  try  always 
to  obey  Him,  this  bitter  life  will  not  have  been  in  vain.  Just  now  1  took  my 
Bible  and  it  opened  at  the  passage,  “  Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,  so 
the  Lord  pitieth  them  that  fear  him,”  and  I  could  hardly  see  the  wTords,  the 
page  became  so  blurred  as  I  tried  to  look  at  it.  Those  who  know  my  nature 
would  understand  that  I  am  indeed  getting  my  discipline,  for  I  almost  never 
cry,  not  once  in  a  year,  often  not  so  frequently,  and  no  one  shall  know  save 
God,  and  you,  book,  that  the  inside  and  the  outside  life  are  vastly  different, 
that  while  one  is  quiet,  unaspiring  and  firm,  the  other  is  full  of  longing  and 
heartache  and  misery.  All  this  last  I  shall  not  write  even  in  my  letters 
home,  for  it  will  do  me  no  good  and  will  worry  mother. 

June  6. — Last  evening  had  a  pleasant  talk  with  Clara  Thatcher,  the 
daughter  of  the  house  in  which  I  board.  Congenial  outside  surroundings 
are  a  great  deal  to  me  as  yet.  Looking  at  the  case  as  hopefully  as  possible, 

I  think  Clara  will  make  my  boarding-place  a  pleasant  one,  for  she  is  attract¬ 
ive  and  seems  kind-hearted,  but  my  school  life  is  almost  unendurable.  I 
have  twenty-seven  scholars,  five  A  B  C-darians,  the  rest  all  under  twelve 
years  old,  except  two  girls  and  one  boy.  The  children  are  more  than  half 
German,  the  rest  mostly  Irish,  except  a  few  Americans,  including  Clara’s 
two  bright  brothers.  I  have  classes  in  botany,  United  States  history,  alge¬ 
bra,  arithmetic  and  grammar.  It  is  very  cold  to-day,  and  I  have  no  material 
for  making  afire.  “  It  rains  and  the  wind  is  never  weary.”  The  house 
leaks,  my  desk  is  wet  and  I  am  completely  chilled.  I  can  hardly  hold  the 
pen  to  write  this  about  the  life  which  I  knew  was  coming  to  me.  I  must 
stay  three  hours  longer  and  then  walk  home  through  mud  that  will  come 
over  my  slioetops. 

Evening,  ten  o’clock. — Am  half  ashamed  of  the  dolorous  tone  in  wdiich 
the  above  is  written,  and  yet  I  need  not  be,  for  it  is  all  true,  and  in  stating  it 
here  I  made  nobody  unhappy  with  the  consciousness  that  I  was  miserable. 

I  only  wrote  it  down  for  the  future.  After  all,  I  have  much  to  be  thankful 
for.  Billy  Thatcher  carried  me  to  school  and  brought  me  back,  and  Clara 


Summer  Studies. 


H3 


and  I  have  had  a  very  pleasant  evening  together.  We  have  been  talking 
science,  art  and  books  as  well  as  we  were  able,  and  I  find  her  highly  intelli¬ 
gent.  Her  ideas  in  general  seem  just  and  broad.  The  part  of  my  summer 
that  I  spend  in  her  home  will  be  pleasant  and  profitable.  We  have  already 
planned  to  pursue  together  the  following  studies  :  entomology,  concliology, 
aquarium  making,  botany  and  herbarium-making,  study  of  the  constella¬ 
tions,  drawing  from  copies,  and  the  manual  alphabet.  Clara  is  quite  skillful 
with  her  pencil,  sketching  from  nature.  I  think  there  is  something  else, 
but  here  is  enough  for  once.  Clara  is  a  senior  in  the  Chicago  High  School 
classical  course  and  we  have  in  tastes  and  education  many  things  in  com¬ 
mon.  She  is  the  last  person  I  thought  to  find  in  this  rude  neighborhood, 
and  I  thank  God  for  it  humbly  and  sincerely,  and  will  try  to  exert  a  good 
influence  over  this  new  friend  of  mine.  I  think  she  has  not  been  reared 
religiously,  and  so  I  pray  here  in  her  room  even  as  I  try  to  in  my  morning 
devotions  at  school,  and  then  go  to  sleep  more  peacefully  and  happily  than 
I  dreamed  I  could  two  days  ago,  or  than  I  shall  deserve  to  ever. 

June  7. — In  the  school-house,  half-past  eight.  Am  quite  content  this 
morning  and  disposed  to  look  with  some  complacence  on  my  lot  in  life. 
My  school  will  be  thoroughly  organized  before  the  end  of  the  week,  and  I 
shall  not  find  it  hard  to  teach,  only  wearisome.  They  are  very  kind  at  my 
boarding-place,  and  I  am  altogether  comfortable  there.  Wrote  a  cheerful 
letter  home  last  night.  I  asked  two  of  my  pupils  in  the  Second  Reader  class 
wny  we  have  such  a  day  as  Christmas,  when  it  occurs  and  what  it  commein- , 
orates.  They  said,  “  It  comes  sometime  in  cold  weather,  and  we  have  it  so 
we  can  hang  up  our  stockings  and  *get  something  nice.”  Beyond  this  they 
had  not  the  faintest  idea  of  the  day. 

Evening,  ten  o’clock. — Clara  and  I  have  been  having  a  royal  time  ever 
since  she  came  from  the  city  on  the  six  o’clock  train.  After  supper  we  went 
walking  to  the  Desplaines  river  where  Clara  wished  to  show  me  some  of  the 
scenes  we  are  to  sketch,  then  we  walked  up  the  railroad  track  and  talked, 
and  I  had  a  beautiful  time.  We  gathered  bouquets  of  roses,  and  rosebuds 
which  are  better  than  blossoms,  and  after  a  walk  of  nearly  two  miles  we  re¬ 
turned  and  found  the  three  directors  waiting  to  examine  my  certificate. 
After  they  had  dissected  it,  we  came  up  to  my  room,  traced  constellations, 

I  learned  the  manual  alphabet,  and  now  I  am  going  to  bed  tired,  but  happy 
and  thankful.  But  before  I  go  I  shall  tell  my  troubles  and  joys  to  God,  and 
pray  Him  to  take  care  of  all  of  us,  especially  the  Four,  until  death  us  do  part; 
nay,  until  after  death. 

June  4. — One  thing  particularly  troubles  me.  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  try 
enough  to  influence  Clara  in  the  right  direction.  I  am  naturally  thought¬ 
less,  and  a  playful  remark  with  a  hidden  meaning  which  is  irreverent  does 
not  meet  in  all  cases  a  negative  response,  or  silence  even,  but  I  see  that  I  am 
inclined  to  laugh  myself  if  the  wit  of  the  words  is  sufficiently  apparent.  But 
I  have  told  her  how  I  am  trying,  and  am  praying  earnestly  and  have  sincere 
wishes  after  righteousness  in  my  heart.  There  is  no  church  here,  nor  are 
there  any  Christian  people,  but  the  Infinite  One  is  everywhere,  and  “His 
greatness  flows  around  my  incompleteness.” 


144 


Sabbath  Away  from  Home. 


Afternoon. — The  scholars  are  more  vexatious  than  t  sual  and  I  find  it 
rather  difficult  to  keep  my  temper,  though  I  have  succeeded  thus  far.  The 
children  overwhelm  me  with  flowers,  the  desk  is  piled  wTith  them  ;  they 
enliven  this  doleful  place  wonderfully.  And  alas  !  for  me  the  time  even  now 
is  -when  I  must  make  comfort  to  myself  out  of  roses  and  lilies  instead  of 
friends  and  home.  One  of  my  scholars  had  a  fit  in  school  and  we  all  were 
frightened,  but  I  was  “sclioolma’am  ”  to  the  best  of  my  ability. 

Evening. — I  have  not  laughed  so  heartily  in  months  as  over  a  scientific 
result  obtained  by  Clara  and  me  this  evening,  and  have  been  just  as  wild 
and  thoughtless  as  I  ever  w7as  at  home.  Clara  is  eighteen  and  her  enthusi¬ 
asm  on  the  subjects  we  are  to  investigate  together,  awakens  mine.  Perhaps 
my  life  is  not  going  to  be  so  very  hard,  but  I  can  not  tell.  One  moment  I 
am  in  the  sunshine  and  the  next  I  am  in  the  shade  ;  so  delicate  is  my  spirit¬ 
ual  thermometer  that  from  zero  to  summer  day  a  pleasant  breath  of  the 
sw7eet  south  w7ind  w7ill  raise  the  mercury. 

June  io. — Sabbath  morning.  Rose  at  nine  o’clock,  breakfasted,  arranged 
my  room,  and  am  wondering  at  the  strange  day  that  I  shall  spend,  so  differ¬ 
ent  from  Evanston  with  all  its  Christian  privileges.  This  family  is  not 
religious.  There  is  no  church  that  I  can  attend,  no  outwrard  form  of  worship 
in  which  I  can  show  the  gratitude  and  love  that  fill  my  heart  this  beautiful 
day.  I  can  see  father  and  mother,  sister  and  brother,  in  the  old  pew.  I 
know  they  all  have  prayed  that  I  might  be  shielded,  strengthened  and  com¬ 
forted  by  our  God  who  is  over  all,  blessed  forever.  Mother  has  wTondered 
what  I  was  doing  to-day  and  has  hoped  in  her  heart  that  I  might  be  happy 
and  serene  and  that  I  might  live  and  act  like  a  Christian  under  whatever 
circumstances  I  may  be  placed.  The  younger  members  of  this  family  have 
taken  their  pony  and  ridden  off  to  the  strawberry  patch  to  spend  the  day. 

4  The  proprietor  sits  in  the  library  below7  with  six  or  seven  friends  wdio  have 
ridden  out  from  the  city  ;  they  are  smokmg  their  cigars  and  talking  of  horse¬ 
races,  sporting,  and  the  like.  The  mistress  of  the  establishment  is  busy 
superintending  the  preparation  of  the  Sunday  dinner,  for  Mr.  T.  is  a  rich 
man  and  fares  sumptuously  every  day.  It  is  a  queer  Sabbath,  I  never  spent 
one  like  it.  God,  help  me  to  remember  Thee  and  heaven  and  holiness  wdiile 
all  around  is  of  the  earth,  earthy.  I  have  stayed  in  my  room  with  Clara,  read 
a  little,  talked  wdth  her  the  rest  of  the  time.  I  do  not  know  what  I  should 
do  w’itliout  her.  She  is  a  petted  child,  the  only  daughter,  not  used  to  think¬ 
ing  much  of  others’  comfort,  but  she  is  very  kind  to  me  and  marvelously 
thoughtful  of  my  happiness.  Clara  and  I  did  not  go  dowm  to  dinner,  which 
was  a  comfort.  Have  read  my  favorite  119th  Psalm  with  solid  satisfaction. 

Evening,  June  11. — School  has  been  positively  zestful,  my  pupils  enthusi¬ 
astic  and  easily  governed.  The  sun  has  shone  and  the  sky  has  been  as  blue 
as  a  violet,  and,  best  of  all,  I  have  had  four  letters  from  home. 

June  12. — My  pupils  have  not  been  as  studious  or  as  easily  governed  as 
usual,  to-day,  and  have  troubled  me  greatly.  Plave  been  obliged  to  box  the 
ears  of  twro  reprobates,  ferule  the  brown  palms  of  four,  and  lay  violent  hands 
on  another  to  coerce  him  into  measures  that  did  not  meet  his  views.  All  this 
I  have  done  ;  I  am  sorry  it  became  necessary,  for  I  feel  kindly  tow7ard  them  all 


A  Lonesome  “  School  Ma’am  A 


*45 


nnd  never  speak  a  harsh  word  only  as  they  force  me  to  do  so  by  the  total 
depravity  they  manifest  in  their  conduct,  and  yet  the  little  creatures  bring 
me  flowers  and  evince  in  many  little  actions  a  kind  of  regard  for  me  that  is 
most  pleasant. 

I  have  given  these  extracts  showing  what  a  young  teacher 
once  endured,  because  I  know  ten  thousand  others  have  had  a 
similar  experience,  and  I  have  hoped  to  bring  somewhat  of  good 
cheer  and  courage  to  those  as  faint-hearted  in  their  new  endeavor 
as  I  was  in  mine  so  many  years  ago. 

10 


FOREST  HOME  FARM. 


CHAPTER  II. 


KANKAKEE  ACADEMY. 

(i860). 

*  ^ 

After  a  few  months  at  home  I  engaged  to  go  to  Kankakee,  an 
Illinois  county-seat  about  sixty  miles  from  Chicago,  as  assistant 
teacher  in  an  academy  started  by  Prof.  Charles  B.  Woodruff  (the 
former  principal  of  the  “  Blind  Institute  ”  at  Janesville,  Wis.,  and 
my  father’s  friend).  Here  I  remained  one  term,  but  owing  to  the 
urgent  wishes  of  my  parents  did  not  return  after  the  Christmas 
holidays.  My  cousin,  Miss  Sarah  F.  Gilman,  of  Churchville, 
N.  Y.,  took  my  place  and  made  a  decided  success  of  the  venture, 
in  more  ways  than  one,  as  she  here  made  the  acquaintance  of  Harry 
Dusinbury,  whom  she  married  within  the  year.  The  story  of  this 
second  effort  as  a  pedagogue  is  best  given  in  journal  language  : 

September  26,  i860. — Very  busy  getting  ready  to  go.  Letter  from  Pro¬ 
fessor  Woodruff  in  answer  to  my  telegraphic  dispatch,  giving  me  further 
particulars  and  saying  that  he  will  secure  my  boarding-place  and  meet  me 
at  the  night  train.  As  nearly  as  I  can  find  out,  I^m  to  teach  philosophy, 
history,  drawing,  grammar,  and  all  the  reading  classes,  how  many  soever 
there  may  be.  I  received  from  Clara  Thatcher  one  of  her  warm-hearted, 
impetuous  epistles.  What  a  heroine  that  girl  has  proved  herself  to  be ! 
Right  on  through  summer’s  heat  she  has  carried,  all  alone,  the  Sunday- 
school  we  founded  in  the  little  red  school-house  so  forlorn.  She  says  Oliver 
is  to  have  their  school,  and  he  is  glad  and  so  are  we,  for  the  wages  are  excel¬ 
lent.  What  an  unromantic  consideration  !  But  he  will  not  have  half  so 
hard  a  time  as  I  had,  for  he  will  be  in  the  nice,  large,  brick  building  instead 
of  my  wretched  little  wooden  house.  Yet  when  I  think  of  spending  all  the 
winter  there,  I  can  but  murmur,  “Poor  fellow,”  to  myself,  for  Evanston  is 
a  town  that  makes  almost  any  other  seem  half  barbarous.  The  fact  that  the 
University  charter  forever  forbids  .saloons  tells  a  whole  dictionary  full  about 
our  moral  status. 

And  so  I  am  to  go  from  home  before  our  dear  relatives  come  from  the 
East,  and  I  have  not  seen  them  in  many  years,  not  since  1  was  a  young  girl. 

(146) 


Tell  Your  Age. 


T47 


They  are  all  very  dear  to  me  and  I  was  especially  anxious  to  see  my  Aunt 
Elizabeth  who  is  loved  with  more  than  the  love  of  near  relationship  by  me, 
and  for  whom  I  am  named.  In  the  lonely  days  that  will  follow  my  going 
I  shall  think  of  those  whom  I  have  left  behind  and  the  other  loved  ones 
who  are  coming,  as  they  enjoy  themselves  together  in  our  home,  while  I 
am  lonesome,  tired  and  heart-sick.  In  the  evening  Mary  and  I  sang  for 
hours  to  father,  who  is  not  particular  about  the  quality  and  cultivation  of  our 
voices,  it  being  sufficient  for  him  that,  as  in  the  olden  days,  his  daughters 
singtogether  “  Bonnie  Doon,”  “  Come  this  way,  my  father,”  “Star-spangled 
Banner,”  and  the  rest;  when  we  closed  with  Longfellow’s  “Rainy  Day,” 
mother  sat  with  her  hand  shading  her  eyes  and  a  sad  expression  on  the 
dearest  face  in  all  the  world  to  me.  I  knew  she  was  thinking  about  my 
birthday  so  near  at  hand,  about  my  going  off  again,  about  her  birds  that  are 
making  longer  flights  at  every  trial  and  need  no  more  to  have  her  bear  them 
up  upon  her  wings.  I  knew  that  she  was  being  sorry  for  me  as  only  one  can 
be,  that  one  my  mother.  Oliver  and  Beth  Vincent  were  upstairs  making 
the  library  catalogue  for  the  Sunday-school.  Aunt  Sarah  sat  with  us,  listen¬ 
ing  quietly  to  everything.  Father  threw  in  a  remark  now  and  then,  some¬ 
times  lively,  sometimes  sad,  but  always  quaint  and  curious.  And  thus  endeth 
the  last  home-picture  I  shall  draw  for  many  a  day.  I  have  been  trying  to 
think  why  I  go  away  to  this  new  work  so  soon.  I  can  not  tell.  I  only  know 
that  I  have  some  dim  sense  that  it  is  right  and  best.  Certainly  it  is  not  the 
happiest.  But  I  have  come  to  believe  that  it  is  well  for  us,  well  for  our  char¬ 
acters,  those  beautiful  fabrics  we  are  weaving  every  day,  to  do  those  things 
that  do  not  make  us  happy,  but  only  make  us  strong. 

I  have  never  felt  reluctant  to  tell  my  age.  It  early  came  to 
me  that  nothing  was  less  dignified  than  to  make  a  secret  of  one’s 
personal  chronology.  Marketable  values  in  many  instances  de¬ 
pend  on  freshness,  and  if  a  girl  has  no  broader  view  of  her  rela¬ 
tions  to  the  world  than  the  relation  she  may  hold  to  some  man 
who  will  prize  her  more  if  she  is  younger,  then  she  does  well  to 
hide  her  age.  But  if  she  is  a  dignified  human  being,  who  has 
started  out,  “  heart  within  and  God  o'erhead,”  upon  an  endless 
voyage  wherein  she  sails  by  the  stars  rather  than  by  the  clock, 
she  will  never  hesitate  either  to  know  or  to  announce  just  where 
she  is  on  that  long  voyage  ;  how  many  days  out  from  childhood- 
land.  The  first  mention  I  find  in  my  journal  of  this  way  of  look¬ 
ing  at  the  subject  is  the  following  : 

September  27,  i860. — I  have  often  wondered  why  it  is  that  people  gen¬ 
erally,  and  ladies  especially,  are  so  unwilling  to  have  their  ages  known.  We 
are  immortal,  and,  for  aught  we  know,  eternal.  We  never  regard  Gabriel 
as  old,  though  the  prophet  Daniel  first  introduced  him  to  us.  Our  baby 
brothers  and  sisters  who  have  died  are  babies  still  to  us,  lambs  in  the  flock 


148 


Kankakee ,  Illinois. 


that  the  gentle  Shepherd  leads.  If  we  do  not  think  of  age  when  we  think 
about  eternity,  why  should  we  in  time,  which  is  only  eternity  cut  off  at  both 
ends?  And  yet  we  do  regard  it  very  much.  This  was  accounted  for  to  me 
recently,  in  the  ease  of  ladies,  on  the  ground  that  their  attractions  dimin¬ 
ish  as  their  years  increase,  after  a  certain  point,  and  that  consequently  the 
number  of  years  is  made  a  mystery.  Ah,  I  have  it !  If  “  one  ”  is  beautiful, 
there  is  some  reason  in  one’s  keeping  one’s  age  a  secret,  but  if  one  is  not, 
one  has  little  or  nothing  to  lose  by  the  flight  of  years  in  this  respect,  while 
one  is  constantly  adding  to  one’s  attractions  in  other  ways,  that  is,  in 
knowledge  of  the  world,  intelligence,  culture,  conversational  ability,  etc.; 
therefore,  if  one  is  not  beautiful,  it  is  foolish  to  make  a  secret  of  one’s  age. 
Corollary  :  My  course  is  plain,  because  I  myself  am  plain  !  It  shall  always 
be  in  order  for  any  one  to  propound  to  me  the  usually  much-dreaded 
question,  “How  old  are  you — if  I  may  be  so  bold?  ” 

Why  should  men  universally  tell  their  ages?  Because  a  man  is  an 
individual  and  not  dependent  upon  others  for  his  support.  I  early  resolved 
that  I  wrould  not  be  dependent,  either,  and  later  that  I  would  try  to  help  all 
other  women  to  the  same  vantage-ground  of  self-help  and  self-respect.  I 
determined,  also,  that  I  would  set  them  a  good  example  by  always  freely 
speaking  of  my  age,  which  I  have  not  shunned  to  declare,  my  mother  face¬ 
tiously  contending  that  I  keep  it,  and  hers,  too,  for  that  matter,  just  one 
year  ahead  of  the  current  calendar. 

I  have  not  done  much  in  these  years,  yet  God  knows  I  will  try  to  make 
up  if  He  will  spare  me,  and  somehow  I  believe  He  will. 


September  29. — Going  away  to  Kankakee  to-morrow  to  begin  my  work. 
Packed  my  trunk  so  as  to  have  it  out  of  the  way.  Oliver  kindly  lent  me 
Nolte’s  “Fifty  Years  in  Both  Hemispheres,”  D’Aubigne’s  “  History  of  the 
Reformation,”  Scott’s  “Bride  of  Lammermoor,”  and  the  first  volume  of 
Bohn’s  edition  of  “Plato,”  to  take  with  me. 

Kankakee,  Ill.,  October  2,  1S60. — Another  book  to  begin  and  a  new, 
strange  life  to  tell  of.  What  a  world  this  is,  to  be  sure,  and  how  we 
struggle  about  in  it,  straying  off  from  those  whom  we  love  and  those  who 
love  us,  to  strange,  unfriendly  regions,  resolutely  turning  away  from  books 
and  quiet  to  take  in  their  stead  pain,  weariness  and  toil ;  yet  in  it  all  there 
is  the  comforting  reflection  that  we  are  right,  that  in  our  nature  there  still 
exists,  notwithstanding  all  our  sins  and  ignorance,  a  spark  of  Godhood,  a 
shimmering  ray  from  the  stars  that  shine  serenely  in  the  zenith  of  the 
angels,  a  breath  of  divinity  which  stirs  within  every  human  soul.  Father 
left  me  yesterday  evening,  and  I  prayed  quite  trustfully  and  went  to  sleep 
with  a  broad  grin  on  my  face,  put  on  through  sheer  strength  of  will.  Well, 
this  morning,  I  went  to  the  Kankakee  Academy,  where  I  am  second  teacher, 
and  on  the  whole  have  had  a  tolerable  day.  I  am  going  to  try  not  to  cry 
once  while  I  am  here,  for  I  am  twenty-one,  I  would  have  you  understand. 
It  is  not  so  very  bad,  and  I  won’t  care.  I  wish  I  were  a  better  woman.  J 
shall  always  call  myself  that  now. 


A  Sense  of  Right  and  Justice. 


T49 


I  now  feel  competent  to  work,  and  work  I  will.  I  can  accomplish  a 
great  deal  between  now  and  the  holidays,  so  good-by  to  home  and  friends 
until  then.  You  can  well  do  without  me,  and  I  have  proved  that  I  can  live 
without  you,  as  wrell.  Each  of  us  is  sent  into  the  world  by  himself,  to  fight 
and  conquer  for  himself,  and  when  all  is  said  an  infinit®  remoteness  from 
every  being,  save  God,  encompasses  each  one  of  us  from  the  cradle  to  the 
grave. 

A  little  poem  in  Harper’s  for  this  month  struck  me  unusually.  I  will 
copy  from  it  as  a  text  to  a  short  sermon.  It  closes  thus  : 

“  In  this  poor  life  we  may  not  cross 
Our  virtuous  instinct  without  loss, 

And  the  soul  grows  not  to  its  height 
Unless  it  love  with  utmost  might.” 

I  believe  the  doctrine  of  this  poem  divested  of  its  imagery.  I  believe 
no  woman  ever  knows  the  depth  and  richness  of  her  nature  until  she  has 
loved  a  man,  some  man  good  and  noble,  better  than  her  own  life.  I  believe 
that  unless  she  does  this,  much  of  pain  and  want  must  be  endured  by  her, 
and  writh  all  that  I  have  admitted,  my  journal  bears  me  witness  that  I  say 
little  or  nothing  upon  the  subject.  Once  only  I  will  give  the  reason  here, 
and  then  I  shall  not  revert  to  it  again.  In  truth,  it  is  not  one  of  which  I 
often  think.  I  have  never  been  in  love,  I  have  never  sh^d  a  tear  or  dreamed 
a  dream,  or  sighed,  or  had  a  sleepless  hour  for  love.  I  never  treasured  any 
man  in  my  heart  until  he  became  sacred  to  me,  until  h;s  words  were  as 
oracles,  his  smiles  as  sunshine,  his  voice  like  music.  I  never  hung  upon 
any  man’s  words  or  took  any  man’s  name  into  my  prayer  because  I  loved 
him,  but  I  might  have  done  all  this  had  I  so  willed  it.  I  wras  too  cautious, 
loved  my  own  peace  too  well,  valued  myself  too  highly,  remembered  too 
frequently  that  I  was  made  for  something  far  more  worthy  than  to  spend  a 
disconsolate  life,  wasting  my  heart,  the  richest  gift  I  could  bestow,  upon  a 
man  who  did  not  care  for  it,  and  who  never  thought  of  me  save  in  friendly, 
common  fashion.  I  was  too  proud  for  that,  I  had  too  keen  a  sense  of  right 
and  justice  ;  too  strong  a  desire  to  work  out  from  the  seclusion  in  which  I 
live,  and  try  to  become  wiser  and  better  and  more  helpful  to  the  world  each 
day.  I  have  known  several  men  for  whom  I  might  have  cared.  I  have 
seen  enough  nobility  in  their  natures,  enough  culture  of  intellect,  enough 
purity  of  mind  and  heart  and  life,  to  inspire  the  choice  emotion.  I  have 
looked  after  them  as  they  passed  me  on  the  street,  as  I  saw  them  in  church 
or  met  them  in  society,  and  have  tranquilly  thought  to  myself,  “  You  might 
%  care  for  him,  but  remember  you  must  not  do  so,”  and  I  have  gone  on  my 
way  calmly  and  in  great  peace.  It  is  not  that  I  am  hard-hearted  or  insensi¬ 
ble,  but  because  I  know  perfectly  well  these  men  think  nothing  about  me 
except  as  an  acquaintance,  and  therefore  I  am  determined  to  be  even  with 
them  and  have  shut  the  door  upon  them  and  said,  “Get  hence,”  and  that  is 
the  end  of  it.  I  am  sure  it  is  right  for  me  to  do  so.  I  have  not  known  as 
yet  what  it  is  to  lean  on  any  being  except  God.  In  all  my  friendships  I  am 
the  one  relied  on,  the  one  who  fights  the  battles,  or  would  if  there  were  any 


4 

150  Socrates  on  Immortality . 

« 

to  fight.  Yet  every  night  I  say  to  God  in  prayer,  “  Sometime,  if  it  pleases 
Thee,  give  me  the  love  of  a  manly  heart,  of  one  that  I  can  trust  and  care  for 
next  to  Thee.  But  if  this  can  not  be,  make  it  up  to  me  in  some  other  way. 
Thou  knowest  what  is  right.  And  in  it  all  may  I  be  very  quiet  and  restful, 
remembering  that  the  fashion  of  this  world  perisheth  and  ere  very  long  I 
shall  be  gone  beyond  the  light  of  sun  or  stars,  beyond  the  need  of  this 
blessing  for  which  I  have  asked.”  I  am  quiet.  The  present  situation  does 
not  trouble,  nor  turn  the  song  of  my  life  into  the  minor  key,  and  for  this  I 
thank  God  fervently.  Burke  says  that  the  traits  most  admired  in  women 
are  dependence,  softness,  trust,  timidity,  and  I  am  quite  deficient  in  them  all. 

October  11. — As  an  indication  of  the  literary  standard  of  the  family  in 
which  I  am  to  stay  for  the  next  ten  weeks,  I  might  mention  that  the 
Mercury ,  the  Ledger  and  Godey's  Ladies'  Book  adorn  (?)  the  parlor  table, 
and  I  find  twenty  or  thirty  copies  of  Littell's  Living  Age  stuffed  away  in  a 
closet  under  an  old  chair. 

October  13. — “To  know,  to  esteem,  to  love  and  then  to  part, 

Make  up  life’s  tale  to  many  a  feeling  heart.” 

In  the  afternoon  I  went  to  Sunday-school  ;  they  have  given  me  a  class 
of  boys  to  teach  ;  then  went  to  class-meeting.  My  class-leader  I  like  very 
much.  He  looks  to  me  like  a  Christian,  he  is  rather  old,  has  silvery  hair, 
dark  eyes,  sweet,  calm  mouth,  finely-cut  features.  I  told  them  that  Christ, 
their  friend,  was  also  mine.  After  all  this  I  am  going  home  peaceful  and 
content,  if  not  happy.  What  a  thing  it  is  to  be  a  Christian  minister  !  How 
glad  and  proud  I  am  that  Oliver  is  one  !  My  landlady  gave  me  those  Livi?ig 
Ages  to  which  I  referred  a  few  pages  back.  Took  Plato  to  school  and  fin¬ 
ished  “Phcedo.”  It  requires  close  thought  to  follow  the  arguments,  partic¬ 
ularly  the  last  one.  The  reasoning  is  like  Butler’s  in  the  “Analogy”  as  to 
one  or  two  of  the  points,  and  I  think  reason  could  not  more  clearly  prove 
the  immortality  of  the  soul.  I  do  not  like  to  affect  such  contempt  for  the 
body  as  Socrates  seems  to  have  felt.  It  looks  to  me  to  have  a  certain  dignity 
of  its  own  besides  that  reflected  upon  it  by  its  kindly  occupant,  and  it  is  so 
fearfully  and  wonderfully  made.  The  following  words  partake  of  a  univer¬ 
sal  spirit  in  man  that  looks  and  longs  for  a  divine  revelation  :  “For  we 
ought  with  respect  to  these  things”  (concerning  the  immortality  of  the 
soul),  “either  to  learn  from  others  how  they  stand,  or  to  discover  them  for 
one’s  self,  or  if  both  these  are  impossible,  then  taking  the  best  of  human 
reasonings  and  that  which  is  the  most  difficult  to  be  confuted,  and  embark¬ 
ing  on  this,  as  one  who  risks  himself  011  a  raft,  so  to  sail  through  life  unless 
one  could  be  carried  more  safely  and  with  less  risk  on  a  surer  conveyance ,  or 
some  divine  reason."  The  tears  came  into  my  eyes  when  I  wrote  the  lines  I 
underscore,  they  seem  so  mournful,  have  such  longing  in  them  for  the  revela¬ 
tion  of  which  Socrates  lived  and  died  in  ignorance.  One  of  the  speculations 
in  these  dialogues  pleased  me  particularly,  that  is  the  one  where  the  philos¬ 
opher  inquires  what  will  become  of  the  souls  of  those  who  have  not  loved 
wisdom,  after  this  life.  He  thinks  that  some  may  be  changed  into  wolves, 
or  hawks,  or  kites,  while  those  of  a  milder  type  may  become  wasps,  or  ants, 
or  even  change  again  into  the  human  species.  I  can  never  rid  myself  of  the 


Music  a  Voice  from  Heaven. 


151 

idea  that  a  spirit  alien  to  them,  looks  out  of  tlie  eyes  of  dogs,  cows,  and 
horses  I  have  seen.  The  expression  is  so  wistful,  as  of  those  that  long  for 
something  forever  unattainable.  It  is  a  curious  thought,  of  which  I  can  not 
clear  my  mind ;  in  its  practical  workings  it  is  a  good  one,  too,  for  I  try 
always  to  be  kind  to  animals,  particularly  those  of  the  large,  hungry  eyes. 

It  is  so  cold  thatT  am  obliged  to  spend  my  evenings  in  the  parlor  down¬ 
stairs  with  the  rest,  and  therefore  I  can  not  write  as  I  would,  but  I  will  do 
my  best. 

Evening. — There,  I  did  not  intend  to  cry  during  all  my  sojourn  at  Kan¬ 
kakee,  but  sitting  here  alone,  writing  to  my  sister  Mary,  I  have  cried  like  a 
child,  no,  like  a  strong  man,  rather,  until  I  quivered  with  trying  to  suppress 
the  sobs  that  would  make  themselves  audible.  I  am  going  to  copy  the  few 
sentences  that  had  powTer  to  make  a  woman  forget  her  self-reliance  on  such 
short  notice,  for  I  sat  down  almost  gayly  to  write,  talked  on  with  Mary  in 
business  style  until  this  last :  “I  am  sorry  I  have  nothing  to  tell  you,  and 
have  written  so  much  about  my  own  little  affairs,  but  I  could  hardly  help  it 
just  this  once.  Remember  I  shall  never  live  with  you  all  at  home  again.  In 
all  your  careless,  pleasant  times,  think  now  and  then  of  your  sister  that  loves 
you,  and  who  feels  as  she  writes  these  words  with  tears  in  her  eyqs,  that  she 
is  to  have  a  sterner  life  than  you  will  know  about.  I  am  afraid  you  will 
forget  me  there  at  home,  now  that  I  am  always  to  be  gone  ;  and  I  wish  you 
would  not  quite,  father,  mother,  brother,  sister,  for  I  shall  not  have  many  to 
love  me  while  I  live.  I  know  your  pleasant  life  and  how  you  are  used  to  be 
without  me,  and  how  I  was  often  impatient  and  indolent,  too,  perhaps.  I 
wTish  I  had  been  better.  There,  I  did  not  mean  to  write  all  this,  but  here  it 
is,  and  though  it  will  sound  strange  to  you  coming  from  me,  I  will  let  it  go. 
Oliver  need  not  say,  in  his  droll  fashion,  that  this  last  part  of  my  letter  is 
all  ‘  hypocrisy,  ’  for  I  have  written  what  I  mean,  though  you  do  not  know 
me  in  this  character.” 

Sunday. — Went  to  church  wfith  my  little  pupil,  Fanny.  While  the  first 
hymn  was  being  sung,  my  mind  came  into  tune  with  the  calmness  and  Chris¬ 
tian  quiet  of  the  place.  I  believe  I  have  a  soul  more  susceptible  to  the 
influence  of  music  than  any  one  who  knows  me  dreams  of,  or  than  I  fully 
understand  myself,  for  a  few  words  played  con  expressione  will  thrill  me 
strangely,  and  sacred  music  most  of  all.  There  is  something  so  spiritual 
about  music,  so  unearthly,  it  stirs  me  like  a  voice  from  purer,  better  regions 
than  these  of  ours..  It  was  Coleridge  who  said  a  painting  was  something 
between  a  thought  and  a  thing.  This  definition  seems  to  me  as  truly  to 
apply  to  music,  and  when  I  use  this  w'ord  I  mean  music  ;  not  twanging  of 
strings  and  swelling  of  bellows  merely,  but  the  waking  up  of  swTeet  and 
solemn  sound.  No  one,  I  think,  can  be  truly  a  player  who  has  not  a  fine, 
cultivated  mind,  a  delicate,  sensitive  nature.  I  have  friends  who,  when  they 
are  in  loftier  moods  than  usual,  play  so  that  the  music  seems  simply  to  drop 
from  their  finger-tips  upon  the  keys.  Miss  Kellogg  plays  Beethoven’s 
“  vSpirit  Waltz  ”  that  way.  Five  minutes  of  beautiful  singing  or  playing  will 
change  my  entire  mental  attitude,  and  like  Philip,  as  George  Eliot  pictures 
him  under  its  influence,  I  think  “  I  might  be  capable  of  heroisms.”  Well, 


152 


‘  ‘  Spasmodically  Generous.  ’  ’ 


i 


so  it  was  this  very  morning,  as  the  solemn  bass,  the  mournful  alto,  the  ring¬ 
ing  tenor  and  exultant  soprano  united  in  singing  : 

“The  whole  creation  joins  in  one 
To  praise  the  glorious  name 
Of  Him  who  sits  upon  the  throne 
And  to  adore  the  Lamb.” 

I  quite  forgot  my  doubts  and  fears,  my  troubles  and  temptations,  and 
turned  a  reverent,  wistful  face  unto  the  Lord.  A  strange  thing  is  this  soul, 
this  wonderful  presence  within  my  breast. 

I  told  Professor  Woodruff,  speaking  of  my  propensity  to  give  away  my 
books,  that  I  was  spasmodically  generous,  which  he  laughingly  remarked 
was  a  species  entirely  unknown  to  him.  I  must  be  very  dignified-appearing, 
for  this  evening  a  pair  of  young  gentlemen  called  to  see  Professor  Wood¬ 
ruff  about  attending  the  Academy.  The  other  ladies  present  and  I  talked 
and  laughed  together  about  some  trivial  matter,  after  which  one  of  the  boys 
asked  me  a  few  questions  concerning  the  school,  which  I  answered  promptly 
enough.  Whereupon  he  inquired  if  I  was  attending  school,  and  I  answered 
that  I  was  one  of  the  teachers.  The  boy  put  his  hand  to  his  mouth  and  in¬ 
dulged  in  an  ill-bred  snicker  at  this.  Upon  relating  the  incident  to  Professor 
Woodruff  he  inquired,  with  well-feigned  petulance,  “Why  don’t  you  look 
older  ?  How  dare  you  masquerade  in  this  false  character?  ” 

As  I  sat  here  writing  the  above,  a  neighbor  came  in  ;  he  is  a  smart  sort 
of  man,  of  middle  age.  I  was  not  thinking  about  him  or  his  talk  until  the 
following  sentence  was  thrust  in  upon  my  reverie,  “Well,  this  old  ortho¬ 
doxy  is  running  down,  running  down  in  my  opinion.  I  suppose  everybody 
would  not  say  so,  but  that  is  my  way  of  thinking.”  I  never  heard  such 
scandalous  language  before  from  the  lips  of  a  decent  person.  The  poor, 
blind  fool  !  I  am  so  indignant  at  him  that  I  can  hardly  sit  here  and  let 
him  go  on  with  his  ignorant,  blasphemous  nonsense,  but  I  will  bear  it 
quietly  unless  he  says  something  on  the  subject  to  me,  and  then  I  will  de¬ 
clare  myself  instanter.  I  am  decidedly  of  the  church  militant,  I  see,  but  I 
can  not  help  it,  I  am  so  thoroughly  disgusted  with  this  man. 

Subjects  on  which  I  am  to  write:  “Mental  Projectiles,”  “Religion,” 
“According  to  Law.”  But  what  is  the  use  of  putting  down  these  themes 
when  I  have  no  privacy  or  chance  to  write  ?  When  I  thought  up  these  sub¬ 
jects  I  thought  up  fine  ideas  to  match  them — fine  ones  and  valuable,  too,  as 
I  steadfastly  believe,  but  I  was  foolish  enough  to  imagine  if  the  subjects  were 
kept  and  remembered,  the  thoughts  would  come  back  to  me,  and  the  pity  of 
it  is  they  don’t,  so  I  look  regretfully  over  the  words  full  of  suggestion  when 
I  wrote  them  first,  but  comparatively  empty  now.  Have  been  reading  of 
Hypatia,  about  whom  I  always  think  with  admiration  and  a  sort  of  reveren¬ 
tial  love. 

October  23. — Such  a  kind  letter  from  father  !  I  am  going  to  make 
an  extract :  “  My  Dear  Daughter  :  I  take  up  my  pen  a  third  time  to  write 

without  provocation  on  your  part,  but  feeling  symptoms  of  loneliness  which 
I  presume  are  imparted  to  me  through  the  affinities  of  father  and  child, 
knowing  that  my  little  ‘news’  will  not  be  unacceptable. ”  Then  the  dear 


Mother'1  s  Letter. 


r53 


man  went  on  and  gave  me  every  item  that  would  be  of  interest ;  among 
them,  that  Mr.  Thatcher  told  him  this  morning  that  if  Oliver  did  as  well  as 
Frank  had  done  wdien  she  taught  at  Harlem,  they  would  be  perfectly  satis¬ 
fied.  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  he  said  so,  though  the  praise  is  late  in  the  day. 

October  25. — Here  comes  a  letter  from  mother  and  here  is  an  extract  : 
“It  gives  me  pleasure  to  learn  that  you  are  not  lonely  nor  unhappy. 
Though  you  have  not  the  exuberant  gleefulness  of  the  little  girls  whom  you 
saw  from  the  window  that  day  with  such  a  thoughtful  face,  I  am  thankful 
you  have  calmness,  and  quiet  endurance,  and  something  that  you  can  almost 
call  peace.  Your  excitement  you  must  now  seek  in  the  vitalizing  influences 
of  the  Holy  Spirit.  An  infinite  soul  may  not  find  contentment  in  the  gifts  of 
a  finite  w'orld.  Some  writer  said*  ‘  For  suffering  and  enduring  there  is  no 
remedy  but  striving  and  doing.’  This  remedy  you  have  early  adopted.”  I 
thank  God  for  my  mother  as  for  no  other  gift  of  His  bestowing.  My  nature 
is  so  woven  into  hers  that  I  almost  think  it  would  be  death  for  me  to  have 
the  bond  severed  and  one  so  much  myself  gone  over  the  river.  She  does  not 
know,  they  do  not  any  of  tlfbm,  the  Four,  how  much  my  mother  is  to  me, 
for,  as  I  verily  believe,  I  cling  to  her  more  than  ever  did  any  other  of  her 
children.  Perhaps  because  I  am  to  need  her  more.  I  am  very  proud  of  her, 
and  few  women  that  I  have  ever  seen  have  satisfied  me  as  she  does.  She 
has  a  fine  intellect,  and  as  she  said  to  me  once,  in  the  regretful  tone  of 
one  who  felt  the  world  did  not  know  her  full  capacities,  “I  might  have 
been  a  singer  with  the  heart  under  more  kindly  circumstances.” 

Mary  and  I  were  talking  together  once  and  I  said  I  could  not  imagine 
what  it  would  be  to  love  any  one  better  than  mother,  to  cling  to  any  one 
more  than  I  did  to  father,  brother  and  her.  The  tears  were  almost  in  my 
eyes,  I  spoke  so  earnestly  ;  but  Mary  answered  lightly  yet  decidedly,  that 
she  believed  she  could  love  the  man  she  should  marry  more  than  all  others, 
and  then  I  knew  that  in  a  few  years  longer  my  sister  will  love  some  one 
alien  to  us  better  than  her  mother  who  has  been  bone  of  her  bone  and  flesh 
of  her  flesh,  better  than  her  brother  and  sister  whom  that  mother  has  carried 
under  her  own  heart ;  better  than  her  father  who  has  watched  over  her  ever 
since  she  was  born  into  the  world,  and  had  many  an  anxious  thought  about 
her  even  before  that  time.  She  is  to  love  the  stranger  better  than  these  who 
are  so  dear  to  her,  and  who  have  been  faithful  to  her  always,  and  who  will 
be  to  the  end  of  the  world,  when  he  may  grow  careless  and  indifferent.  And 
it  is  right  that  she  should  do  so,  it  is  an  instinct  of  God’s  own  appointing, 
but  my  heart  ached  to  hear  her  speak  the  words. 

October  26.  —  Father  is  the  cleverest  of  men.  Just  listen  to  him: 
“Deaf  Frances,  this  day  I  forward  by  American  Express,  care  Professor 
Woodruff,  a  package  directed  to  you,  containing  a  book,  a  watch  and  belt 
fixings  such  as  all  the  girls  are  wearing  now.  The  watch  I  took  out  of  my 
pocket  as  I  would  an  eye  out  of  my  head,  for  I  do  not  know  what  I  am  to 
do  without  it.  And  I  hesitated  some  time  as  to  what  was  my  duty  in  the  case 
without  coming  to  any  determination  011  that  point.” 

The  great  event  of  this  evening  was  Professor  Woodruffs  attempt  to 
mesmerize  me.  He  tried  eighteen  minutes,  looking  me  straight  in  the  eye, 


i54 


Mesmerism. 


but  never  a  bit  of  dazedness  did  he  put  upon  me  “  at  all  at  all,”  although  I 
will  admit  he  has  a  very  peculiar  eye,  and  two  or  three  evenings  ago  when 
he  tried  it  I  felt  a  curious  dizziness,  everything  seemed  going  away  except 
his  eyes  and  they  glared  at  me  like  a  serpent.  My  landlady’s  daughter 
came  down  to  be  mesmerized,  if  he  could  do  it,  and  within  two  minutes  she 
was  unconscious.  I  knew  her  to  be  perfectly  honest  and  she  was  greatly 
chagrined  that  he  had  conquered  her,  particularly  after  his  laughing  boasts. 
I  have  been  heretofore  wholly  skeptical  on  the  subject,  but  I  am  now  a  con¬ 
vert  to  this  much  :  I  believe  it  to  be  a  species  of  animal  magnetism,  mani¬ 
fested  under  certain  conditions  and  dependent  for  force  upon  the  will  of  the 
operator.  That  is  all  Professor  Woodruff  claims.  The  symptoms  all  go  to 
prove  this  theory.  The  young  lady  saicl  shp  felt  prickings  in  the  ends  of  her 
fingers  like  those  attending  a  shock  from  a  battery. 

We  have  most  amusing  times  singing  ;  Miss  C.  takes  the  soprano,  Pro¬ 
fessor  W.  the  basso,  and  I  attempt  the  alto  ;  when  Sam  is  here  he  helps  and 
we  have  quite  a  concert.  “  Oft  in  the  Stilly  Night,”  as  rendered  by  us  is 
really  quite  heart  searching. 

October  27.  — This  is  Oliver’s  birthday.  I  wonder  if  he  remembers  it. 
I  dare  say  not,  the  careless  fellow  !  I  am  vexed  with  him  for  not  writing, 
but  I  suppose  he  can  hardly  find  time,  as  he  is  preparing  for  examination. 
Went  down  town  with  my  landlady  and  she  kindly  helped  me  to  select  a 
dress,  which  I  have  earned  with  my  own  money,  as  I  shall  joyfully  think 
when  I  wear  it  in  school. 

Later.  My  two  boys  who  laughed  at  the  idea  of  my  being  a  teacher, 
are  in  one  of  my  classes  and  I  take  great  delight  in  magnifying  my  office 
for  their  illumination.  Had  a  letter  from  Oliver  after  all ;  I  am  very  proud 
of  my  brother  and  very  thankful  for  him.  I  like  him,  he  suits  my  ideas 
better  than  any  other  young  man  I  have  ever  seen.  He  has  delicacy, 
quickness  of  perception,  cultivation  of  mind,  and  physically  the  look  that 
I  particularly  admire.  I  let  my  hostess  read  the  letter  and  as  she  laid  it 
down  she  said,  “  He  is  a  good  brother,  I  know.”  I  admire  her  sagacity  and 
sense.  I  believe  I  will  copy  some  of  his  w'ords  :  “  Evanston,  October  20, 

i860.  My  Dear  Sister  Frank  :  I  ought  to  have  answered  your  letter  at  once, 
and  should  have  done  so  but  for  poor  health,  a  great  deal  to  do,  and  a  very 
foolish  aversion  to  letter  writing,  becoming,  from  long  indulgence,  almost 
insurmountable.  I  am  disposed  to  make  amends  and  hope  you  will  accept 
my  apology  coupled  with  a  promise  to  do  better  hereafter.  I  was  very 
sorry  for  the  incident  attending  our  parting,  for  I  was  unconscious  of  an 
intention  to  injure  your  feelings  in  any  respect,  though  part  of  what  I 
said  would  have  been  better  unsaid.  I  am  glad  you  gave  me  credit  for  in¬ 
nocence  of  intention.  As  to  the  construction  given  my  words,  I  was  surelv 
guiltless,  for  I  never  thought  there  was  any  foundation  for  remarks  based 
upon  the  assumption  that  you  were  in  any  particular  inferior  to  the  rest  of 
us,  because  I  feel,  and  have  always  felt,  the  opposite.  ‘  To  err  is  human’  — 
in  this  respect  I  acknowledge  myself  related  to  humanity;  ‘to  forgive, 
divine,’ — in  this  respect  I  am  glad  to  believe  you  are  affiliated  with  spiritual 
existences.” 


Lincoln  Is  President. 


155 


For  little  Fannie’s  amusement  I  have  this  evening  become  almost  a 
child  again,  having  an  interest  that  surprises  me  in  the  old  games  of  the 
dead  years.  I  have  ransacked  my  memory  for  stories  of  witches,  robbers, 
fairies,  told  her  about  Jack  and  his  bean-stalk,  Blue  Beard  and  Cinderella, 
with  variations  ;  played  all  imaginable  games,  from  the  tick-tack  to  the  laby¬ 
rinth  ;  showed  the  wonderful  pictures  of  the  wolf  and  sand-hill  crane,  and 
closed  the  exhibition  by  achieving  the  Spanish  student  in  the  highest  style 
of  the  art,  which  the  bright-eyed  little  girl  is  now  imitating  with  astonishing 
success. 

November  4. — Anniversary  of  the  Kankakee  County  Bible  Association. 
When  they  took  up  a  collection  and  I  wrote,  “  F.  E.  W.,  $1,  ”  I  felt  a  new 
thanksgiving  that  I  could  earn  and  use  money  according  to  my  own  judg¬ 
ment.  I  hereby  promise  myself  that  I  will  give  as  much  as  I  can  from  all 
my  earnings  to  promote  the  doing  of  good  in  the  world. 

Received  a  letter  from  Amelia  I.,  one  of  my  former  pupils  at  H.  I 
smiled  as  I  observed  how  careful  she  was  to  place  all  her  capitals  and  punct¬ 
uation  marks.  She  is  doing  well  and  trying  to  learn  and  satisfy  the  hunger 
that  is  given  by  the  gods  to  their  favorites  among  men.  The  closing  words 
of  her  letter  are  enough  to  reward  me  for  the  little  I  have  done  and  shall  do 
for  her  :  “I  thank  you  for  your  kind  offer  to  lend  me  some  books,  and  trust 
I  shall  learn  much  from  them.  Do  write  soon,  Miss  W.,  for  it  does  me  good 
to  hear  from  my  old  teacher.  I  feel  resolved  to  take  your  advice  and  to 
learn  all  I  can  and  try  to  remember  all  that  I  learn.” 

November  7. — Dincoln  is  elected  President  of  the  United  States.  Hurrah  ! 
Under  the  present  system  I  was  not  allowed  to  vote  for  him,  but  I  ain  as 
glad  on  account  of  this  Republican  triumph  as  any  man  who  has  exercised 
the  elective  franchise  can  be.  It  is  amusing  to  observe  the  interest  chil¬ 
dren  take  in  politics  This  morning  Professor  W.  read  the  returns  aloud, 
and  all  my  little  girls,  some  of  them  but  six  years  old,  crowded  around  and 
listened  attentively,  clapping  their  hands  at  the  announcement  of  an  unusual 
majority  in  any  state.  It  was  a  curious  and  suggestive  side-picture  ;  a  tall 
gentleman  reading  in  triumphant  tones  ;  twenty  young  men  around  him 
listening  eagerly  ;  a  group  of  smaller  boys  in  the  rear  ;  several  young  ladies 
paying  careful  attention,  and  “the  other  teacher”  looking  with  expectant 
eyes  toward  the  newspaper,  and  surrounded  by  a  dozen  little  girls,  holding 
by  the  hand  the  rosebud  who  dances  up  and  down  exclaiming,  “Are  n’t 
you  glad,  Miss  Willard,  that  Dincoln  is  elected?”  A  picture  representing 
this  scene  would  not  inaptly  indicate  the  genius  of  a  Republican  govern¬ 
ment,  an  organization  in  which  every  member,  male  and  female,  large  or 
small,  feels  a  keen,  personal  interest. 

Our  reading  lesson  to-day  was  about  God  and  his  goodness  to  us.  I 
wished  to  impress  it  upon  my  pupils,  and  after  going  over  the  ground  at  some 
length,  said  by  wray  of  application,  “  Now,  Sarah,  what  ought  wre  to  do  when 
God  is  so  kind  to  us?  ”  She  looked  up  with  a  fresh  sparkle  in  her  eyes  and 
exclaimed,  “Why,  pay  Him  for  it!”  Oh,  we  all  have  that  idea,  heaven 
pity  us  !  We  can  not  take  the  gift  of  Christ  humbly  and  thankfully.  In  all 


# 


I 


156 


“  /  am  Suffering  io  Draw. 


the  ages  men  have  been  trying  to  climb  up  some  other  way  to  God,  trying 
after  all  His  love  and  mercy,  to  pay  Him  for  it. 

I  gave  my  pupils  these  three  questions  :  How  do  we  know  right  from 
wrong?  What  is  the  difference  between  morality  and  religion  ?  How  do  we 
know  the  Bible  is  true  ?  My  recollections  of  moral  philosophy  and  “Leslie's 
Method  with  the  Deists”  were  of  great  use  to  me  in  making  these  things 
intelligible.  Florence  listened  with  attentive  face  and  flush  on  cheek  and 
brow  that  delighted  me.  Nothing  is  so  refreshing  as  these  evidences  of  a 
thinking,  reasoning  mind  in  a  child.  Nothing  seems  so  hopeful  for  future 
usefulness  and  growth. 

My  landlady  has  been  telling  me  about  Bunker  Hill  and  the  dedication 
of  the  monument  by  Daniel  Webster  when  Lafayette  was  present,  and  the 
wonderful  address  delivered  by  the  greatest  orator  of  his  time.  I  wish  I  had 
seen  something  of  the  world,  and  I  think  I  shall  some  day. 

In  the  evening  Mr.  N.  called  ;  he  is  a  pleasant,  good-hearted  fellow  and 
very  entertaining.  He  almost  terrified  me  by  his  familiarity  with  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher,  the  poets  Rogers,  Pope,  Addison,  Dryden,  etc.  Talked  with 
him  in  friendly  fashion  and  rather  enjoyed  the  evening.  He  is  going  to 
teach  me  to  play  chess.  I  lent  him  Plato’s  “  Dialogues  ”  ;  wonder  what  he 
will  make  of  them. 

November  13. — Was  weighed  to-night ;  result,  one  hundred  and  nineteen 
pounds.  That  is  gaining  more  than  a  pound  a*week  ever  since  I  came  here. 

Evening. — Here  Mr.  H.  sits,  ridiculing  the  vicarious  atonement  and  the 
divinity  of  Christ.  It  almost  makes  me  shudder  to  hear  him.  I  know  it 
injures  me  and  I  know  it  vexes  me  beyond  expression.  What  a  terrible 
creed  is  this  of  the  spiritualist !  I  believe  it  is  from  the  bottomless  pit. 

My  little  Flora  looked  up  discontentedly  into  my  face  to-day,  a^d  said, 
“  Miss  Willard,  I  want  to  draw,  I  am  suffering  to  draw  !  ”  I  burst  out  laugh¬ 
ing,  nobody  could  help  it.  Between  you  and  me,  I  am  not  the  most  staid, 
decorous  “scliool-marm  ”  in  the  world. 

November  18. — After  dinner  I  went  to  Sunday-school.  One  of  my  boys 
came  in  early  and  said,  “  Were  you  sick  that  you  did  n’t  come  for  these  two 
weeks?”  I  felt  reproached  and  ashamed.  Then  he  said,  “I  have  remem¬ 
bered  the  answers  to  those  questions  all  this  time.”  The  other  boys  came 
up  and  whispered  the  answers,  “Paternoster,”  and  “Apocrypha.”  I  was 
sorry  I  had  stayed  away.  It  wras  on  account  of  a  headache  once,  and  the 
next  time  some  frivolous  excuse,  unworthy  of  my  profession,  but  really  they 
behaved  terribly  the  last  time.  They  said  to-day  they  would  behave  like 
gentlemen  hereafter  and  seriously  began  by  being  very  quiet  and  attentive. 
I  will  try  not  to  stay  away  again.  I  spoke  in  class-meeting  to  the  following 
purpose  :  I  wish  I  were  a  better  woman.  My  conscience  reproaches  me  for 
my  thoughtless  words  and  actions  during  the  last  few  weeks.  My  life  is 
very  different  now  from  what  it  was  at  home  where  every  morning  my  father 
prayed  that  we  might  be  guided  aright.  I  seem  to  stand  alone,  almost,  and 
have  many  new  temptations. 

1  hen  the  class-leader  said  he  had  thought  of  me  often  and  prayed  for 
me.  had  been  sorry  that  I  was  away  from  my  father  and  my  friends.  His 


Our  Drawing  Class. 


*57 


gentle  words  brought  the  tears  to  my  eyes.  I  resolved  again  and  again  to 
live  better  than  I  have  done,  and  in  Christ’s  strength  to  be  “a  good  girl” 
as  my  father  has  so  often  and  so  kindly  counseled  me. 

November  19. — Father  says  that  Mary  has  been  ill,  something  resem¬ 
bling  typhoid  fever.  That  is  why  she  did  not  write.  I  am  worried  about  it, 
poor  child.  I  love  my  sister  almost  as  I  love  myself,  I  think  she  is  even 
nearer  to  me,  though  not  dearer,  than  my  mother.  She  seems  a  part  of  my 
heart.  We  have  been  together  all  our  lives  ;  I  have  no  secrets  from  her, 
none  in  the  world.  I  admire  her  for  her  frank,  ingenuous  manner,  her 
pleasant,  pretty  face  and  fine  figure.  I  love  her  for  her  true,  good  heart, 
her  intellect  and  her  strong  good  sense,  but  most  of  all  for  her  unyielding 
conscientiousness,  her  firm  religious  character,  her  entire  devotion  to  truth 
and  righteousness.  “Absence  makes  my  heart  grow  fonder  ”  toward  her 
and  toward  them  all.  God  pity  me  if  any  evil  should  befall  her  !  If  she 
should  be  cut  down  in  her  youth  and  her  prime,  while  the  bloom  is  on 
her  cheek,  the  light  in  her  eye  and  the  luster  on  her  brown  hair  !  I  can  not 
conceive  of  anything  s©  terrible.  God  will  not  curse  me  so.  He  will  not 
send  such  a  blight  over  my  life  and  mother’s.  She  is  mother’s  youngest 
child.  I  can  not  bear  to  think  of  it,  it  makes  me  shudder. 

Father  fears  I  am  wandering  off  and  forgetting  my  allegiance  to  God 
and  Christ,  but  he  need  not,  I  am  trying  to  be  good.  I  wrote  him  so  to-day. 
If  he  did  not  love  me  very  much  he  would  not  write  me  as  he  does. 

November  21. — Letter  from  mother  and  a  note  from  father.  Mother 
insists  that  I  shall  spend  the  winter  at  home  and  not  return  here  again.  I 
can  not  tell,  it  will  be  just  as  I  think  best,  but  as  I  go  through  the  cold 
and  frost  and  bear  many  unpleasant  things  and  hear  unjust  words  some¬ 
times,  I  often  wonder  that  I  do  not  stay  at  home  where  they  love  me  and 
where  T  am  warm  and  comfortable. 

November  22. — Letter  from  father  containing  this  comforting  sentence 
at  the  conclusion  :  “Keep  up  good  courage,  pray  in  faith,  and  remember 
you  have  my  poor  prayers,  as  well  as  your  mother’s,  every  day.’’ 

We  have  pleasant  times  in  our  drawing-class.  Besides  the  regular  mat¬ 
ters,  we  talk  physiognomy.  My  recollections  of  Lavater  are  invaluable 
here.  We  analyze  faces,  hands,  figures  and  feet,  classic  noses,  eyes  and  eye¬ 
brows,  disagree  about  the  curve  of  the  nostril,  or  the  aristocratic  elevation  of 
an  instep,  define  the  Roman  nose,  studying  the  school  generally  in  respect 
of  all  these  and  their  finger-nails  and  hair  besides.  I  talk  Rubens,  Land¬ 
seer  and  Rosa  Bonheur  as  well  as  I  am  able,  and  I  think  my  pupils  like  the 
hour  in  which  we  do  these  things  as  well  as  any  in  the  six.  I  have  each  one 
of  them  bring  in  a  drawing  from  nature  and  reproduce  the  day’s  lesson 
from  memory  every  day. 

November  23. — To-day  came  a  letter  from  my  sister,  the  first  she  has 
written  since  her  illness.  She  speaks  more  seriously  than  usual,  proposes 
that  we  be  baptized  on  Christmas  Day.  She  has  done  a  good  deal  of  read¬ 
ing  since  I  left  home,  and  sums  it  up  with  pardonable  importance.  She  is 
a  smart  girl  and  I  am  glad  of  her.  Here  is  an  extract  from  her  letter  :  “My 
dear  Frank,  you  did  not  knowT  when  you  wrote  your  last  letter  that  I  should 


158 


Plays  Chess. 


read  it  on  my  sick-bed.  Yes,  I  have  been  quite  ill,  a  sluggish  sleep  for 
thirty  six  hours,  with  fever  and  headache,  only  waking  up  long  enough  to 
take  a  little  medicine.  I  don’t  know  as  I  ever  was  worse.  I  had  the  doctor 
this  time  and  I  was  put  in  a  pack,  like  Oliver,  you  know,  and  all  the  ugly 
doctoring  things  done,  and  so  it  was  and  so  I  might  have  died.  Just  think 
of  it !  And  then — no,  I  am  not  ready  for  that.  There  are  matters  of  form 
to  be  gone  through  with,  saying  nothing  of  the  lack  of  polish  that  the 
jewel  in  its  case  is  suffering  for.’ 

In  the  evening  Frank  N.  came  and  gave  Professor  W.  and  me  a  lesson 
in  chess  playing.  He  says  we  are  apt  pupils  and  shall  do  well.  I  like  the 
game  exceedingly.  It  is  quite  intellectual,  does  not  admit  of  cheating,  and 
is  the  king  of  games.  Went  to  the  “Reading  Circle”  of  this  town  and  en¬ 
joyed  it  very  much.  We  read  “  Washington’s  Life,”  by  Irving.  These 
young  ladies  seem  well  ediicated  and  quite  appreciative  ;  they  are  critical 
about  pronunciation,  etc.,  and  I  learned  several  things. 

November  25. — Went  to  Sabbath-school  and  my  boys  seemed  really 
unusually  interested  in  the  class.  It  amused  m^  to  hear  them  whisper 
among  themselves,  “You  must  be  polite,  she  told  us  to  act  like  gentlemen.” 

Monday. — We  play  chess  all  our  spare  time.  I  do  not  read  a  bit  and  am 
ashamed  of  myself  generally.  From  Goethe:  “Every  day  one  ought  to 
hear  a  song,  to  read  a  little  poetry,  to  see  a  good  picture,  and,  if  it  is  pos¬ 
sible,  to  say  a  few  reasonable  words.  ”  Thus  we  are  better  for  everything 
refined  and  beautiful  that  meets  us  in  our  lives,  for  every  flower,  dewdrop 
and  rainbow.  In  my  working  life  I  see  these  glorious  things  not  often,  but 
receive,  with  hearty,  loyal  gratitude,  the  little  that  falls  to  my  share.  I 
wish  I  could  hear  Beethoven’s  “  Spirit  Waltz  ”  to-night.  I  wonder  what  he 
thought  of  as  he  played  it  for  himself.  I  wonder  what  it  said  to  him.  I  shall 
know  some  day  when,  on  the  peaceful  shore,  I  talk  with  the  good  and  great 
ones  who  have  lived  on  earth.  This  faith  of  mine  renders  me  patient  and 
hopeful.  There  is  another  life  than  this  of  ours. 

November  28. — Mary  Hickok  and  her  brother  spent'  the  evening  with  us. 
She  beat  me  at  chess,  after  which  we  sang  the  song-book  through,  and  Frank 
N.  came  and  we  enjoyed  ourselves  in  a  general  way  till  twelve  o'clock.  I 
received  my  first  invitation  to  a  ball,  which  I  respectfully  declined. 

November  29.— Thanksgiving  Day.  Much  to  my  regret,  our  school  was 
not  adjourned.  I  thought  many  things  this  morning  while  I  heard  my  geog¬ 
raphy  class  and  they  were  singing  upstairs  (the  academy  rooms  being  in  the 
basement  of  the  M.  E.  Church).  Then  came  the  prayer.  I  heard  the  min¬ 
ister’s  gentle,  earnest  tones  thanking  the  Divine  Father  for  the  mercy  and 
goodness  that  have  followed  us  all  the  days  of  our  lives,  mingling  with  the 
words  I  heard  from  Professor  W.  explaining  the  value  of  x  and  y  in  an 
equation  of  „three  unknown  quantities.  I  stopped  my  class,  and  we  all 
listened  with  bowed  heads  to  the  prayer  ;  my  little  girls  were  strangely 
silent  and  attentive.  Though  I  teach  to-day  as  usual,  instead  of  praising 
God  in  the  great  congregation,  yet  in  my  heart  I  keep  Thanksgiving,  and 
God,  who  seetli  not  as  men  see  and  judgeth  not  by  the  outward  appearance 
but  by  the  intention  of  the  heart,  knows  this. 


Gains  in  Christian  Charity. 


159 


Evening. — Finished  Nolte’s  “  Fifty  Years  in  Both  Hemispheres.”  He 
is  a  keen,  quick-witted,  garrulous  man,  with  no  idea  of  humor  or  decency. 
Much  of  the  book  concerning  individual  speculations  and  like  subjects  is  iin- 
interesting  to  me,  yet  I  have  learned  a  good  deal  from  it.  The  letters  to 
painters  were  especially  attractive.  It  has  been  much  fresh  entertainment 
to  read  sketches  of  great  men  with  whom  the  writer  is  personally  acquainted, 
as  in  the  present  instance.  Cliantrey,  Delaroche,  Charlet,  and  a  dozen  other 
■writers,  were  the  author’s  friends.  Of  the  latter  he  says  that  he  was  so 
strongly  impressed  with  the  face  and  figure  of  Napoleon,  that  he  could  draw 
him  with  his  eyes  closed.  “  He  frequently  did  this  for  me,”  says  Mr.  N. 
“  Once  asking  where  he  should  begin,  ‘  At  the  heel  of  the  right  boot,’  I  said. 
He  did  so,  and  drew  the  whole  figure  perfectly  well;” 

December  3. — That  grand  student  of  men,  Chamfort,  who  far  surpasses 
the  philosopher,  De  la  Rochefoucault,  remarks:  “In  great  matters  men 
show  themselves  as  they  wish  to  be  seen  ;  in  small  matters,  as  they  are.”  I 
heartily  indorse  this  sentiment,  my  experience  with  myself  approves  it. 

December  6. — I  must  own  that  all  my  talk  about  self-abnegation  is  be¬ 
coming  every  day  more  like  poetry  and  less  like  reality.  I  do  not  try  to 
control  my  temper  as  I  did  at  Harlem,  I  do  not  try  to  grow  good  and  noble 
as  I  really  did  when  I  first  came  here.  True,  I  have  very  little  cause  for  the 
exhibition  of  temper,  and  I  do  nothing  really  bad,  as  the  world  views  it,  but 
the  glorious  Christian  life  I  know  little  about.  Finding  that  loftiness  and 
Spartan-like  severity  and  dignity  can  not  well  be  attained  with  my  dis¬ 
position  in  my  present  surroundings,  I  accept  my  lower  destiny  and  grasp 
the  straws,  content  since  I  can  not  have  the  roses.  I  am  not  noble- 
uatured,  I  own  it  humbly,  and  with  infinite  regret.  I  descend  to  puny 
thoughts,  I  sing  songs  instead  of  quiet  and  lofty  psalms,  talk  localisms  and 
nonsense  instead  of  morality  and  religion  ;  play  chess  instead  of  reading 
history  and  the  Bible  use  amusing,  quaint  expressions  instead  of  well- 
selected,  elegant  English  ;  laugh  instead  of  think  ;  make  efforts  at  satire 
instead  of  trying  to  control  my  temper ;  think  more  of  doing  up  my  hair 
nicely  than  of  exerting  a  pure,  refining  influence.  And  thus  my  life  goes 
on,  my  poor  make-shift  sort  of  a  life.  I  am  more  sick  of  it  than  my  best 
friends  can  tell.  I  must  not  be  unjust  with  myself,  I  am  not  wicked,  only 
thoughtless  and  rather  degenerating  even  from  the  place  to  which  I  had 
attained,  and  yet  the  case  has  lights  as  well  as  shadows. 

I  have  more  charity  for  the  world,  more  faith  in  it,  than  I  ever  had 
before.  I  see  these  people  “  without  God  and  without  hope  in  the  world,” 
exhibiting  a  nice  sense  of  honor,  much  tenderness  of  conscience,  and  an 
emphatic  love  for  justice  and  for  truth.  I  see  a  thousand  signs  of  noble¬ 
ness  and  riglit-lieartedness  that  I  would  not  before  have  dreamed  of  seeing 
in  a  community  of  “non-professors.  ”  It  enlarges  my  charity,  my  faith  in 
mankind  as  such,  my  catholicity,  1113'’  cosmopolitan  spirit.  Certainly  this 
is  a  gain.  I  shall  not  cry,  “  Surely  we  are  the  people  ”  with  half  the  empha¬ 
sis  that  I  once  put  upon  the  words,  and  it  is  better  that  I  should  not.  I  see 
men  making  no  profession  of  Christianity  and  yet  contributing  liberally  to 
the  support  of  the  church  and  all  its  enterprises,  manifesting  the  deepest 


i6o 


Writes  a  Composition  for  X. 


respect  for  its  rights  and  ordinances,  professing  the  greatest  reverence  and 
regard  for  its  institutions.  I  hear  young  ladies  not  bred  to  orthodoxy,  nor 
affecting  an  experimental  knowledge  of  its  worth,  murmuring  their  prayers 
each  day  with  sincerity  and  faith.  I  see  the  children  of  careless,  worldly 
women  reverently  kneel  to  say  “Our  Father,”  taught  by  their  mothers. 

I  see  lying  and  dishonesty  frowned  upon  and  noble  deeds  applauded.  All 
this  in  Kankakee,  the  most  irreligious  community  in  which  I  was  ever 
placed-  I  walk  their  streets  quietly  and  they  think  me  a  humdrum  person, 
doubtless,  but  in  my  poor,  wavering,  silent  heart  there  are,  perhaps,  more 
longings  and  more  purposes  “than  they  have  ever  dreamed  in  their 
philosophy.” 

Some  one  has  said  :  “My  conceptions  were  grander  when  they  were  in¬ 
articulate,  in  my  youth,  than  when,  in  after  years,  they  found  a  voice.  The 
wave,  crestless  in  the  deep  sea,  swelled  like  a  mountain  ;  it  broke  in  shal¬ 
lower  water,  and  rippled  ineffectually  on  the  shore  of  utterance.” 

After  a  foolish  evening  I  go  to  sleep  and  dreams — of  dearer,  holier  things 
than  I  had  talked  about,  for  every  heart  knoweth  its  own  sacred  possessions  ; 
every  heart  hath  its  faces 

“  That  it  muses  on,  apart.  ” 

I  am  reading  now  Plato’s  “Lysis,”  on  friendship,  and  the  “Gorgias,” 
on  rhetoric.  From  the  former  I  take  this  paragraph,  which  has  in  it 
wholesome  counsel  :  “If  then  you  become  wise,  my  boy,  all  men  will  be 
your  friends,  and  all  friends  will  be  attached  to  you,  for  you  will  be  use¬ 
ful  and  good ;  but  if  you  do  not,  neither  will  any  one  else,  nor  your  father 
be  a  friend  to  you,  nor  your  mother,  nor  any  of  your  kindred.” 

By  the  noon  mail  a  missive  arrived  from  my  school-mate  X.,  coolly  beg¬ 
ging  her  “  very  dear  friend  Frauk,”  with  the  “  very  dear  ”  underscored,  to 
give  her  some  ideas  of  a  composition  to  be  read  on  a  special  occasion  in 
two  weeks.  Oh,  Finley  Johnson,  thou  who  advertisest  to  concoct  speeches 
for  senators,  poems  for  freshmen,  odes  on  “My  own  little  boy,”  a  la  lorn 
Hood,  for  “doting  parents,”  come  to  the  relief  of  a  dazed  school-teacher, 
who  amid  all  her  other  cares  and  troubles  must  take  the  additional  one  of 
writing  a  composition  for  a  very  dear  friend.  Well,  I  must  arm  myself  with 
paper  and  pencil  and  bring  to  light  a  few  scattered  thoughts  on  the  curious 
and  flowery  theme,  “  The  living  strive,  the  dead  alone  are  glorious.” 

Never  be  afraid  to  question  your  author,  and  to  stop  him  in  his  loftiest 
thoughts  and  pAfoundest  depths  with  the  question,  “  Is  it  so?  ” 

That  is  a  beautiful  idea  contained  in  the  writings  of  Schiller,  I  believe, 
that  “deprived  of  earth’s  gifts  by  want  of  alacrity  in  suing  for  them,  the 
poet  received  from  Jove  the  key  of  heaven.”  Happy  poet !  In  having  this 
he  has  all  things,  and  can  well  affordjo  miss  the  joys  of  common  folks. 

December  16. — Taught  my  school  with  a  joyful  heart,  I  am  going  home 
so  soon.  Went  to  the  book  store  for  prizes  for  my  Sunday-school  class.  Pro¬ 
fessor  W.  wrote  a  commendatory  letter  to  father  about  me.  Now,  even¬ 
ing,  having  regaled  myself  upon  the  Chicago  daily  Tribune ,  I  will  devote 
the  remainder  of  the  time  to  the  study  of  Agnew’s  “  Book  of  Chess,”  and  to 


FATHER. 

OLIVER. 


U,MY  FOUR.” 

MOTHER. 

MARY. 


Young  Barbarians. 


161 


mental  congratulations  of  this  character:  “Well,  you  are  going  home, 
going  home  in  two  or  three  days  ;  your  hard  times  will  all  be  over.  You 
will  see  your  mother  and  father,  your  sister  and  brother,  and  all  the  kind 
well-wishers  that  you  count  among  the  inhabitants  of  dear,  -delightful 
Evanston.  You  will  see  the  old,  familiar  rooms,  and  the  lake,  and  the  col¬ 
lege,  and  the  church.  You  will  sleep  in  your  own  little  room  with  your 
sister  by  your  side,  and  your  cousin  not  far  off — your  bright  cousin  Sarah, 
Lottie ’s  sister.  So  thank  God,  and  be  sorry  that  you  have  not  better  de¬ 
served  the  blessings  He  is  showering  on  your  head.”  This  is  the  melody  of 
my  life,  all  else  is  but  seeming,  and  variations  upon  this  beautiful  reverie. 

December  18. — Attended  my  classes  and  walked  to  and  from  school 
through  rain  and  mud  unutterable.  I  sent  to  Chicago  yesterday  for  prizes  for 
my  Sunday-school  boys,  to-day  went  to  the  depot  and  wrote  their  names  in 
their  books.  They  met  me  there,  and  as  fast  as  this  was  done,  the  grace¬ 
less  little  scamps  snatched  their  “  winnings  ”  and  scampered  off  without 
as  much  as  “  By  your  leave,”  much  less,.  “Thank  you.”  Such  an  instance 
of  unkindness  and  ingratitude  I  have  not  seen  in  a  long  time. 

Quotation  from  our  reading  lesson  at  school :  “  That  which  each  man 

can  do  best,  no  one  but  his  Maker  can  teach  him.  Insist  on  yourself,  never 
imitate.  Every  great  man  is  a  unique.”  (Emerson’s  “Essay  on  Self-re¬ 
liance.”) 

Packed  my  trunk  to-night,  and  so  it  is  almost  all  over,  and  I  am  going 
home. 

December  21. — An  awful  snow-storm  has  commenced.  I  walked  through 
the  drifts  to  school.  The  elements  seem  determined  to  wreak  their  ven¬ 
geance  upon  me  to  the  last.  Well,  let  them,  they  have  but  a  little  longer. 

Plere  are  some  lines  written  by  Stillingfleet  that  contain  “  my  doctrine,” 
as  father  says  : 

“  Would  you  both  please  and  be  instructed,  too, 

Watch  well  the  rage  of  shining  to  subdue. 

Hear  every  man  upon  his  favorite  theme, 

And  ever  be  more  knowing  than  you  seem.” 

Evanston,  December  26. — I  doubt  if  there  is  a  person  living  who  has 
greater  cause  for  thankfulness  than  I  have.  I  am  in  my  little  room  once  more  ; 
the  fire  burns  brightly  ;  the  old,  familiar  furniture  is  about  me  ;  the  pictures 
look  down  benignly  from  the  walls  ;  my  sister  Mary  sits  at  my  feet,  writing 
in  her  funny,  off-hand  journal  ;  my  cousin  “  Sac  ”  sits  opposite  ;  my  brother 
in  his  room  across  the  hall  is  writing  a  sermon  ;  down-stairs  father  and 
mother  gather  cozily  around  the  home  hearth,  and  with  heart  brimming 
full  of  thankfulness,  I  come  to  Thee,  Father  of  every  good  and  perfect  gift. 

11 


CHAPTER  ITT. 


THE  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS  IN  HARLEM  AND  IN  EVANSTON. 

(1861-1862.) 

In  the  spring  of  1861  I  once  more  taught  Harlem  school  for 
a  few  weeks.  Here  at  the  Thatcher  homestead,  “Shady  Dell,” 
came  in  June  the  climax  that  I  then  thought  would  close  my  inde¬ 
pendent  career.  But  in  the  following  February  that  spell  was 
broken  and  I  resumed  the  spelling-book  in  April  of  the  same  year. 

The  first  I  knew  about  the  war  was  when  my  father  came 
home  from  Chicago,  April  13,  1861,  in  an  agony  of  mind,  saying, 
“Fort  Sumter  has  been  fired  upon  and  our  flag  is  there  no 
longer.”  This  produced  great  consternation  in  our  household. 
When  I  think  of  the  love  that  fills  my  heart  toward  the  Southern 
people  in  general  and  my  own  great  circle  of  friends  there  in  par¬ 
ticular,  I  can  hardly  believe  that  I  exhausted  language  in  anath¬ 
emas  upon  them  when  this  news  came.  Soon  after,  the  Bull  Run 
defeat  showed  us  what  we  did  not  till  then  believe,  that  we  had 
foemen  worthy  of  our  steel  !  Up  to  that  time  we  looked  with 
disdain  upon  ‘  ‘  the  lily-handed  Southrons  ’  ’  and  thought  that 
General  Scott  would  soon  teach  them  the  difference  between  “  a  lot 
of  idlers”  and  the  horny-handed  and  lion-hearted  .soldiers  of  the 
North.  After  that  terrible  defeat  the  students  in  the  University 
immediately  formed  a  company  commanded  by  Alphonso  C.  Finn, 
one  of  the  truest  of  men  and  a  favorite  teacher  there,  who  left 
us  with  a  thousand  blessings  on  his  noble  head  and  returned  to 
us  no  more.  A  company  was"  also  formed  among  the  theological 
students  in  which  my  brother  enlisted  for  one  hundred  days,  but 
they  were  not  called  out.  All  the  relatives  I  had  were  too  old  to 
go  as  soldiers  except  my  brother  and  two  cousins ;  the  latter  had 
dependent  families,  my  brother  was  never  physically  vigorous, 

(162) 


Our  First  War  Meeting. 


163 


and  I  am  compelled  to  admit  that  we  were  well  content  that  the 
company  to  which  he  belonged  was  not  called  away  from  home.  I 
used  to  be  sorry  at  the  time  that  none  of  my  kindred,  so  far  as 
1  knew,  was  in  the  army,  but  I  can  not  say  at  this  distance  that  I 
am  now,  and  while  I  know  that  if  my  understanding  of  the  South¬ 
ern  people  had  then  been  what  it  now  is,  I  should  have  felt  alto¬ 
gether  different  toward  them,  I  have  the  poor  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  they  anathematized  us  as  bitterly  as  we  did  them  ! 
It  grated  strangely  on  my  ear  when  the  first  Sunday  trains  I  ever 
knew  rumbled  by  loaded  with  soldiers  from  my  own  Wisconsin. 
The  day  is  fresh  in  memory  when  Gen.  Julius  White,  on  Sunday 
morning  after  church,  stood  up  in  his  pew  near  the  altar  and 
made  an  impassioned  speech  calling  upon  all  patriots  to  con¬ 
vene  in  the  church  the  next  night  and  declare  what  they  were 
going  to  do  to  save  the  country.  They  came;  the  old  “meet¬ 
ing-house  ”  was  filled  to  overflowing  and  our  hearts  beat  fast  when 
students  whom  we  knew  and  thought  much  of,  went  up  the  aisle 

and  placed  their  names  upon  the  muster-roll.  Governor  Evans 

% 

presided,  and  he  with  other  rich  men  and  many  not  so  rich, 
pledged  large  sums  to  the  families  of  those  who  agreed  to  go  to 
the  front.  I  was  a  young  school-teacher,  but  according  to  my 
narrow  income,  perhaps  I  gave  as  generously  as  any.  I  would 
have  given  myself  to  care  for  the  wounded,  indeed,  was  earnestly 
desirous  of  .so  doing,  but  my  father  would  not  for  a  moment 
listen  to  such  an  idea,  and  I  must  say  mother  was  not  particu¬ 
larly  heroic  in  that  connection.  But  we  scraped  lint  and  pre¬ 
pared  bandages  ;  went  to  all  the  flag-raisings,  Professor  Jones’s 
College  flinging  the  first  one  to  the  breeze,  and  we  prayed  the 
God  of  battles  to  send  freedom  to  the  slave. 

In  1862,  the  Public  School  of  Evanston  was  my  theater  of 
action.  Dr.  Bannister,  professor  of  Hebrew  in  our  Theological 
Seminary,  was  a  director.  Meeting  him  on  the  sidewalk  near  his 
own  door,  I  asked  him  for  the  place.  He  thumped  meditatively 
with  his  cane,  then  said,  abruptly,  “  Are  you  sure  that  you  can  do 
it,  Frank?’’  All  my  forces  rallied  on  the  instant  in  the  words, 
“Try  me  and  see  !  ’’  His  daughter  was  my  associate,  and  ours 
was  a  difficult  portion  ;  two  young  women  essaying  to  teach  their 


164 


Evanston  Public  School. 


neighbors’  children  in  the  town  where  they  themselves  wTere  lately 
students. 

My  journal  says  : 

April  20,  1862. — This  is  the  hardest  gwork  I  have  yet  done.  There  are 
two  rooms,  eighty  pupils,  thirty-two  classes,  of  which  we  teachers  have  six 
apiece  that  are  “  high.”  I  study  on  my  mathematics  all  the  time  I  can  pos¬ 
sibly  get  out  of  school  hours.  I  have  algebra,  and  arithmetic  away  over  in 
the  back  part  of  the  book.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  keep  order,  but  we  do 
our  best  and  have  hope ,  though  every  night  we  ache. 

We  had  two  big  overgrown  pupils,  “the  O.  boys,”  who  had 
been  a  terror  to  all  preceding  pedagogues.  Their  open  insubor¬ 
dination  one  day  obliged  me  to  go  toward  them  with  a  stick, 
whereupon  both  vaulted  out  of  an  open  window  and  we  never 
saw  them  more  !  The  school  was  a  thoroughly  American  type. 
There  sat  the  sons  and  daughters  of  men  cultured,  distinguished, 
rich,  beside  the  barefoot  boy  and  girl  from  humble  cabins,  and 
melodiously  their  voices  mingled  as  they  sang  Coates  Kinney’s 
lovely  song  : 

*  “  When  the  humid  shadows  gather 

Over  all  the  starry  spheres, 

And  the  melancholy  darkness 
Gently  weeps  in  rainy  tears, 

O  ’tis  sweet  to  press  the  pillow 
Of  a  humble  cottage  bed, 

And  to  listen  to  the  patter  of  the  raindrops  overhead, 

To  the  patter,  patter,  patter  of  the  raindrops  overhead.” 

Their  fingers  drumming  gently  on  the  desks,  in  imitation  of 
the  falling  rain,  helped  to  make  the  sweetest  music  that  my 
teaching  years  recall. 

April  25. — We  try  to  teach  wrell  and  to  do  good.  Dear  knows  I  “give 
my  whole  mind  to  it,”  to  say  the  least.  Aunt  Sarah  has  been  with  us  all 
winter,  and  is  my  main-stay  in  mathematics.  She  thinks  it  would  be  beau¬ 
tiful  for  me  if  I  could  go  East  to  teach  next  fall,  and  will  do  her  best  for  me. 
She  has  considerable  influence  with  Mrs.  Stanton,  principal  at  Leroy,  and 
some  leading  ladies  in  Rochester.  It  looks  pleasant  to  me  to  think  of 
carrying  out  this  plan. 

May  11. — School  goes  well,  is  very  hard,  but  can  be  compassed.  Some 
of  the  pupils  I  love.  I  play  ball  with  them  at  recess  and  “spell  them  down  ” 
myself,  or  take  one  “  side  ”  and  put  them  all  in  competition  with  me  on  the 
other,  to  enliven  the  proceedings. 

At  devotions  in  the  morning,  when  I  read  and  pray  before  them  I  feel 
their  weight  a  little,  and  a  thrilling  desire  to  help  them  toward  eternal  life. 


Nineteen  Beautiful  Years  Ended.  165 

It  is  hard  for  me  to  conduct  devotions,  yet  I  prize  this  possibility  of  doing 
good. 

Among  other  things  I  teach  natural  philosophy,  botany  and  physiology. 

If  I  were  not  often  beclouded  by  physical  weariness  I  should  always  thank 
God,  every  moment,  that  I  am  of  use.  I  think  I  have  a  rather  healthful  nature 
and  I  get  on  comfortably  with  life.  To-night  Freddy  Huse  brought  me  a 
little  bouquet  arranged  after  his  own  fashion.  He  did  not  know  how  grate¬ 
ful  it  was  nor  how7  it  stirred  my  heart  to  hear  him  say,  “  We’ve  missed  you 
very  much  in  Sabbath-school.”  It  was  a  simple,  boyish  sentence,  but  I 
have  felt  better  ever  since,  and  I  think  hardly  so  tired. 

I  had  not  been  able  to  take  my  class  as  usual  because  my 
sister  Mary  was  not  well  and  my  Sunday  afternoons  were  passed 
with  her. 

Mary  getting  better  very  slowly— it  is  a  painfully  familiar  sight — her 
thin  face  on  the  pillow,  when  I  come  in  from  school. 

We  talked  a  little,  she  and  I,  about  old  times  at  home,  before  any  of  us 
had  other  loves  than  those  of  the  dear  ones  there.  She  said,  “  I  have  never 
been  so  happy  as  when  we  used  to  ‘  keep  store  ’  under  the  trees,  and  go 
walking  with  father  and  mother  in  the  orchard  and  pasture.  Just  think, 
Frank,  of  the  vine  all  over  the  house,  of  the  splendid  well,  the  evergreens, 
the  animals  of  all  sorts,  and  the  dear  old  barn  !  ”  She  is  so  anxious  to  go 
back — says  she  shall  never  get  well  unless  we  take  her  home.  Just  as  soon 
as  she  can  bear  it,  mother  will  go  with  her. 

I  have  “inspirations”  about  the  old  home.  Some  day  I  shall  write  a 
pleasant  book  about  it.  I  have  believed  I  should,  for  years. 

May  30. — Every  day  school  grows  pleasanter,  and  I  think  a  little  easier. 
I  have  such  a  liking  for  Emma,  Minnie,  Ella,  Eda  and  her  sisters  ;  Darwin, 
Harry,  Verner  and  many  more.  And  my  pupils  like  me,  too,  I  think. 

Nine  days  after  this,  June  8,  1862,  I  lost  out  of  this  life  my 
sister  Mary.  The  record  of  her  life  is  fully  given  in  “  Nineteen 
Beautiful  Years.” 

June  8,  1862. — Mary  is  dead.  I  v/rite  the  sentence — stop  and  look  at 
it — do  not  know  what  it  means.  For  God  is  merciful  and  the  awful  truth  of 
my  desolation  does  not  shut  down  close  around  me  all  the  time  ;  it  comes  in 
paroxysms  and  goes  again. 

At  the  request  of  Dr.  Bannister,  who  will  preach  the  funeral  sermon,  I 
shall  write  out  many  of  the  things  that  she  has  said  during  her  illness — 
and  at  her  death.  Sweetness,  purity  and  childlikeness  w7ere  remarkable 
features  throughout  her  trial.  She  expected  to  recover  almost  down  to  the 
last  hour,  and  her  most  ardent  wish  was  to  get  well  enough  to  go  to  For¬ 
est  Home,  where  she  had  spent  her  childhood.  The  very  night  she  died 
she  told  us  to  talk  about  returning  there.  She  used  to  say,  “  I  never  have 
had  such  pleasant  times  as  when  Frank  and  I  were  children  and  used  to 


1 66  ‘  ‘  Humanity —  What  a  Wonderful  Thing!'1'' 

play  among  the  trees  and  in  the  garden.”  The  physician  considered  her 
hopefulness  her  best  symptom,  so  we  did  not  talk  to  her  of  dying,  though 
of  Christ  and  of  religion  a  great  deal.  She  used  to  wander  in  her  sleep, 
and  often  thought  she  wTas  a  child  again.  One  night  when  I  slept  with  her, 
she  put  her  hot  hand  against  my  face  and  said,  “  You’re  with  me  in  the  trun¬ 
dle-bed,  Frank,  as  you  used  to  be,  are  n’t  you  ?  ”  And  that  night  she  thought 
she  "was  talking  with  Emma  White  (one  of  her  Sunday-school  scholars), 
and  she  said,  “  Emma,  I  hope  you  remember  your  promises  made  in  Sab¬ 
bath-school,  and  read  the  Bible,  and  pray,  and  try  to  set  a  good  example, 
and  don’t  think  too  much  about  this  poor  world,  but  about  that  wonderful, 
wonderful,  infinite  wrorld  where  God  is.  And  remember  that  where  your 
treasure  is,  there  will  your  heart  be  also — so  you  can  easily  tell  whether  you 
are  right  or  not.  And  don’t  worry  about  joining  the  church,  but  ask  that 
kind  man,  Mr.  Goodrich,  to  put  your  name  on  some  of  the  class-books 
and  then  be  proud  to  be  a  Christian,  and  to  have  it  known  that  you  are, 
and  not  be  like  people  who  say,  ‘  I’m  not  ashamed  to  own  my  Lord  ’  when 
they  ought  to  feel  so  honored.” 

She  seemed  anxious  to  do  good  and  worried  for  fear  she  had  not.  Once 
she  said  to  mother,  “  I  would  like  to  be  well  if  only  for  one  day,  so  that  I 
could  do  some  good  to  some  one.  I’ve  never  done  any,  unless  a  little  in  my 
Sabbath-school  class,  and  I  am  not  quite  sure  about  that.  I’ve  tried  to  learn, 
and  to  improve,  and  to  prepare  myself  to  be  useful,  and  now  I’d  like  to 
live  and  do  something  in  the  world.” 

She  thought  much  about  the  kindnesses  shown  by  her  friends.  Bou¬ 
quets,  notes,  messages,  were  received  so  joyfully.  She  was  thinking  about 
these  things  one  day  and  said  to  me,  “How  good  people  are  to  me  ;  how 
thoughtful  and  kind  !  Oh,  Frank,  humanity,  humanity,  what  a  wonderful 
thing  !  ” 

On  the  last  day  of  her  life  she  was  lying  with  her  head  in  father’s  lap 
and  she  asked  to  have  the  Bible  read.  He  said,  “Where  .shall  I  read?” 
She  told  him,  “  Oh,  wdiere  it  makes  Christ  seem  beautiful  !  ”  He  read  a  psalm. 
She  said,  “  Please  read  where  it  says  Christ  was  sorry  for  sick  folks.” 

Father  read  about  the  healing  of  the  daughter  of  Jairus.  She  liked  it, 
but  when  he  had  finished  her  plaintive  voice  cried  out,  “  Please  read  where 
it  says  He  is  sorry  now.”  After  awhile  she  added,  “We  believe  that  God 
loves  us  better  than  our  mothers  ;  yet  mother  would  have  liked  me  to  get 
well,  and  God  does  n’t  seem  to  care — He  does  n’t  seem  to  see  fit  to  make  me 
well — yet  He  knows  what  is  right.”  In  the  night  she  was  worse.  She  wanted 
everything  still  ;  kept  moving  her  hands  in  a  soothing,  caressing  way,  and 
murmuring,  “So  quiet,  so  quiet,  no  noise,  so  quiet  !  ”  At  four  o’clock  on 
the  morning  of  the  eighth  of  June,  Sabbath  morning,  we  became  greatly 
alarmed  and  for  the  first  time  father  and  I  decided  that  she  could  not  get 
well.  I  went  at  his  suggestion  for  Mrs.  Bannister  and  Mary.  Father  said 
to  our  Mary,  for  the  first  time  coming  directly  to  the  subject  of  her  danger, 
“My  child,  if  God  should  think  it  best  to  take  you  to  Himself  should  you 
be  afraid  to  go  ?  ”  She  looked  quickly  at  him  with  a  rather  pitiful  face,  she 
seemed  to  consider  a  moment,  and  then  said  in  her  low,  mournful  voice, 


‘  Tell  Everybody  to  be  Good.  ’  ’ 


167 


<<  1  thought  I  should  like  to  get  well  for  I  am  young  ;  but  if  God  wants  me 
to  go  I  should  n’t  be  much  afraid,  but  should  say,  ‘Take  me,  God.’  ”  We 
asked  if  there  wras  anything  that  we  could  do  for  her.  “Pray,”  she  said, 
“pray  thankful  prayers.”  Mother  asked  her  if  she  saw  Christ,  if  He  was 
near  her.  “Yes,  I  see  Him  ”  she  said,  “but  He  is  not  very  near,  I  wish  He 
would  come  nearer.” 

I  asked  her  if  we  should  pray,  she  said  “  Yes,”  and  I  prayed  aloud  that 
Christ  would  come  close  to  her,  that  she  might  see  and  feel  Him  plainly, 
that  since  she  had  tried  to  love  and  obey  Him,  He  would  come  right  to  her 
now  in  her  great  need.  She  clasped  her  hands  together  and  said  so  joy¬ 
fully,  “He’s  come,  He’s  come  !  He  holds  me  by  the  hand,  He  died  for  me, 
He  died  for  all  this  family,  father,  mother,  Oliver,  Frank”  (and  Mary 
Bannister  says  she  added,  “  my  dear  sister  ”). 

“  I’ll  have  Him  all  to  myself,”  she  said  and  then  seemed  to  remember 
and  added,  “  I’ll  have  Him  and  everybody  may  have  Him,  too — there  is 
enough  for  everybody.  He  is  talking  to  me,  He  says  ‘  She  tried  to  be  good, 
but  she  wandered,  but  I  will  save  her,’  ”  and  added,  “I  see  Him  on  the 
cross,  He  died  for  the  thief ;  He  did  n’t  die  for  good  people,  but  for  bad 
people  ;  He  died  for  me.”  I  said,  “  I  w’ant  to  ask  you  to  forgive  me  for  all 
my  unkind  actions  to  you,  for  everything  bad  that  I  ever  did  to  you.”  She 
answered  very  earnestly,  “  Oh  !  I  do,  but  you  never  did  anything  bad,  you 
were  always  good.”  Mother  asked  her  if  she  did  not  wish  to  leave  a  mes¬ 
sage  for  Oliver.  “  Don’t  you  think  he  will  be  wTith  us  in  heaven?”  she 
said  ;  “  Of  course,  he  is  working  for  God.  Tell  him  to  be  good,  and  to  make 
people  good,”  and  when  I  asked  for  a  message  for  her  Sunday-school  class 
she  said,  “Tell  them  to  be  good,”  and  then  added  with  great  earnestness, 
“  Tell  everybody  to  be  goody 

She  said  to  us,  looking  so  sweet  and  loving,  “I  wish  I  was  strong 
enough — I’d  like  to  talk  good  to  you.” 

Almost  at  the  last  she  said,  with  a  bright  smile  on  her  face,  “Oh  !  I’m 
getting  more  faith  !  ”  Mother  questioned,  “My  darling,  you  will  meet  us, 
won’t  you,  at  the  Beautiful  Gate?  ”  “  Oh,  yes  !  and  you  will  all  come,  and 
father.  Christ  wants  you  right  off!  ” 

She  moved  her  hands  convulsively  and  said,  “I’ve  got  Christ — He’s 
right  here  !  ”  Then  she  said  to  me,  “  Oh,  I’m  in  great  misery,”  and  then, 
“Dear  God,  take  me  quick  !  ”  She  held  out  her  hands  and  said,  “Take 
me  quick,  God  — take  me  on  this  side,”  turning  toward  the  right.  She  lay 
still,  bolstered  up  by  pillows  ;  I  asked  if  she  knew  me,  and  she  repeated  my 
name.  Father  asked  her  often  if  Christ  was  still  near  her,  she  would  nod, 
but  did  not  speak.  She  seemed  troubled,  after  a  few  moments  father  bent 
over  her  and  slowly  and  with  difficulty  she  told  him  of  her  dread  of  being 
buried  alive  and  he  promised  her  over  and  over  again  that  she  should  not 
be.  Then  she  gave  some  little  directions  about  preparing  her  bed,  as  she 
said,  “  For  those  who  lay  me  out,”  showing  her  perfect  consciousness.  She 
never  spoke  again,  but  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  at  us  with  such  intent- 
liess,  the  pupils  so  wide,  the  iris  so  blue.  I  never  saw  such  soul  in  human 
eyes  before.  She  groaned  a  little,  then,  and  for  some  time  she  did  not  move. 


i68 


“ Mary  Didn't  Get  Well." 


her  eyes  dosed  slowly,  her  face  grew  white.  Father  said,  “Ford  Jesus, 
receive  her  spirit ;  Ford,  we  give  her  back  to  Thee.  She  was  a  precious  treas¬ 
ure,  we  give  her  back  to  Thee.”  Mrs.  Bannister  closed  Mary’s  eyes.  Father 
and  mother  went  into  the  sitting-room  and  cried  aloud.  I  leaned  on  the 
railing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  looked  at  my  sister — my  sister  Mary — and 
knew  that  she  was  dead,  knew  that  she  was  alive!  Everything  was  far  off ; 
I  was  benumbed  and  am  but  waking  to  the  tingling  agony. 

August  21. — O  dear  !  I  don’t  know  what  it  is  that  I  would  like  to  say.  I 
am  crowded  with  feeling,  and  it  was  never  before  so  plain  to  me  that  I  am 
without  power  of  expression.  “  Mary  did'  nt  get  well,"  that  is  the  key¬ 
note  to  all  my  thoughts.  I  was  so  sure  she  would  ;  I  refused  to  think  it 
possible  that  she  could  die.  And  now  under  the  experiences  that  crowd 
upon  me  faster  than  ever  before,  like  a  wave,  the  consciousness  of  what  has 
happened  us  flows  back  and  forward  in  my  heart,  and  put  in  words  it  all 
amounts  to  this:  “She  is  dead.  Mary  is  dead.  Her  hands  are  on  her 
breast  so  cold  and  still  ;  she  takes  no  note  of  us,  or  any  thing  ;  and  she 
used  to  be  so  merry,  so  full  of  motion;  she  was  always  with  us,  she  never 
went  away.'’ 

Oh  !  this  has  crushed  out  all  other  feelings,  except  a  vague  sense  of 
incompleteness,  of  wanting  some  one,  some  thing — of  reaching  out  toward 
the  future  life  almost  with  yearning.  Sometimes  I  don't  look  upon  her  as 
dead —  I  ought  not  to  have  said  so.  And  oh  !  last  Sabbath  evening  when  we 
walked  up  to  church,  all  that  is  left  of  us,  father,  mother  and  I,  so  clear  and 
beautiful  I  saw  her  in  her  unconditioned  life  —  somehow,  somewhere,  so 
radiant,  so  painless,  so  secure — very  near  to  Christ,  the  glorious,  satisfy¬ 
ing  Christ,  and  perfectly  complete  in  heart  and  life,  thinking  of  us,  know¬ 
ing  that  it  will  not  be  long  till  we  shall  come.  And  I  was  quite  content  to 
go  to  church,  to  pray  and  trust  and  work  awhile  longer  and  then  I  believed 
I  should  go,  too.  It  is  His  will,  He  is  as  well  pleased  with  us  wTlio  pray 
as  with  those  who  praise ;  with  us  who  try  as  with  those  who  triumph. 
This  is  one  stage,  it  is  all  arranged  by  Him.  The  time  will  be  brief,  the 
eternity  will  pay  all,  will  give  us  what  we  missed  here,  will  round  everything 
to  symmetry.  All  this  if  we  love  and  trust  the  Father  of  our  souls,  and  do 
as  well  as  we  can  what  He  has  given  us  to  do.  And  Mary  is  the  favored 
one,  not  sleeping  in  the  grave,  but  conscious  as  we  are,  only  so  well  off,  so 
glorified,  so  restful.  It  may  be  only  a  fancy,  yet  I  think  I  shall  be  with  her 
before  many  of  our  little  years  are  past.  O  Father  of  my  spirit,  take  it  to 
TI13  self,  any  time,  any  where,  only  love  it,  take  care  of  it.  Fet  it  see 
Christ  and  Mary. 

Sept,  i.— I  have  been  to  the  old  home,  Forest  Home,  since  I  wrote  last. 
Mary  was  to  have  gone  there,  Mary  wished  to  go  more  intensely  than  any  of 
us — spoke  of  it  not  more  than  two  hours  before  she  died.  The  place  is 
sold  now.  Mary  did  not  live  to  see  it  go  out  of  our  hands,  she  never 
mourned  a  friend  lost  by  estrangement  or  by  death,  and  no  reverses  ever 
came  to  her. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


“PRECEPTRESS  OF  THE  NATURAL  SCIENCES.” 

We  were  so  heart-broken  after  my  sister  left  us,  that  a  few 
weeks  later  the  old  home  was  given  up  and  by  the  kindness  of 
Professor  Jones  I  went  to  the  Northwestern  Female  College, 
whence  I  had  graduated  three  years  earlier,  as  teacher  of  the  nat¬ 
ural  sciences. 

My  brother  was  married  July  3,  1862,  about  four  weeks  after 
my  sister’s  death,  to  her  class-mate  and  my  friend,  Mary  Bannister, 
and  their  home  was  in  Denver,  Cob,  for  several  years,  where  he 
founded  the  M.  E.  Church  and  Seminary,  and  was  a  Presiding  Elder 
when  but  twenty-seven  years  old.  Thus  unbefriended  and  alone, 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life  homeless  and  for  the  first  bereft,  I  re¬ 
turned  to  the  scene  of  my  girlish  escapades  a  thoughtful,  chast¬ 
ened  woman — at  least  I  thought  so,  but  my  pupils  of  those  days 
declare,  to  my  astonishment,  that  I  was  “full  of  fun.”  Surely, 
they  did  not  know  my  heart  as  here  revealed  : 

August  29,  1862. — On  Monday  I  move  over  to  my  Alma  Mater,  the  North¬ 
western  Female  College.  I  am  elected  “  Preceptress  of  Natural  Sciences.” 
Very  humbly  and  sincerely  I  pray  to  God  that  I  may  be  good  over 
there  and  do  good.  I  was  wild  and  wicked  as  a  pupil ;  in  the  same  building 
may  I  be  consistent  and  a  Christian  as  a  teacher.  The  last  days  are  passing 
in  this  broken  home.  Life  changes  so,  Thy  heart  must  ache  for  us,  O  God, 
but  that  Thou  knowest  we  are  soon  to  enter  the  unchanging  home.  I  have 
been  at  camp-meeting  four  days.  It  is  a  glorious  place,  I  love  it  dearly. 
God  has  brought  me  nearer  to  Himself.  My  Sunday-school  girl,  Jennie,  is 
trying  to  be  good,  and  her  noble  sister  Hattie,  and  ever  so  many  more.  What 
names  I  could  write  here  of  those  for  whom  I  pray  and  hope,  who  have  not 
yet  come  to  the  light.  Help  me  to  act  aright  in  these  my  new  relations  ! 
I  want  to  live  a  good  life  and  get  ready  to  go  to  my  sister  in  heaven.  I  am 
afraid  that  Mary’s  death  will  kill  my  mother. 

August  31. — 

“  Man  may  trouble  and  distress  me, 

’Twill  but  drive  me  to  Thy  breast. 

Life  with  trials  hard  may  press  me, 

Heaven  will  bring  the  sweeter  rest.” 


“As  Much  a  Teacher  as  Herself." 


170 

September  2. — Sitting  in  my  room  at  the  "Female  College,”  a  teacher  reg¬ 
ularly  installed  in  a  ladies’  school.  The  sensation  is  agreeable.  I  have  a 
natural  love  of  girls,  and  to  have  them  around  me  as  pupils  and  friends 
will  be  delightful.  To  think  that  I  am  sitting  here  in  the  room  that  was 
Luella  Clark’s,  my  poet  friend,  as  much  a  teacher  as  herself ;  my  dear  old 
books  around  me,  my  pictures  and  familiar  things  ;  and  then  such  admirable 
girls  to  teach,  Emma,  Hattie,  and  the  rest.  Went  for  the  last  time  to  the 
class-meeting  of  which  I  am  so  fond,  at  Dr.  Bannister’s,  since  I  must  as  a 
teacher  attend  here  at  the  college.  George  Strobridge  led  it.  Kate  Kiddei 
and  Josephine  Evans  came  home  with  me  here  to  the  steps  below. 

September  7. — Sabbath  evening.  My  first  Sabbath  in  the  college.  All 
the  teachers  are  at  church  except  myself.  It  is  sweet  and  full,  busy  amf 
fatiguing,  at  once,  the  life  I  lead.  In  the  parlor  to-night,  how  beautiful 
was  the  grouping  after  tea  :  the  graceful  figures  of  the  girls,  Miss  Fisk  at  the 
piano,  Captain  Jones  with  his  wife,  Dr.  Charlie,  and  spiritual-faced  Professor 
with  his  wife,  and  the  children,  all  of  them  soon  to  start  for  China,  where 
Professor  has  been  appointed  consul ;  the  kind  old  father  and  mother 
looking  on  contentedly  at  their  three  handsome  sons  ;  the  folding-doors 
affording  glimpses  of  the  piazzas  ;  music  in  the  air.  I  liked  it.  The  bell  rang 
for  church,  the  picture  dissolved.  Professor  did  not  die,  as  we  all  thought 
he  would  last  winter.  He  is  well  and  going  on  a  voyage  half  around  the 
world.  Mary,  my  sister  Mary,  who  went  with  me  to  see  him  in  his  illness, 
took  that  longest  of  all  voyages  in  his  stead  ! 

Am  reading  Peter  Bayne’s  “  Christian  Life.”  It  will  help  me  to  prepare 
to  go  to  Mary.  I  wish  everything  might. 

September  8. — After  school  hours  I  ached — there  are  so  many  flights  of 
stairs,  forty  in  a  day  or  more.  Went  home  at  dinner  time.  Father  and 
mother  are  soon  to  go  away.  Oh,  mother,  with  your  sad,  sad  face,  and  your 
black  dress  !  Heaven  has  much  to  restore  to  you  for  all  your  weary  years  ! 
I  pray  God  to  show  me  how  I  can  be  most  comforting  to  you,  how  I  can 
justly  fill  an  only  daughter’s  place.  Life  reaches  out  many  hands  for  me, 
with  manifold  voices.  I  am  intensely  alive.  I,  who  am  to  lie  so  still  and 
cold  beside  my  sister  Mary. 

Sabbath  morning,  September  14. — Sitting  in  my  room  dressed  in  a  pretty 
black  silk  wrapper  that  mother  and  Miss  Burroughs  made.  The  autumn 
sunlight  is  pouring  in.  I  am  here,  but  Mary,  who  was  always  with  me, 
where  is  she?  The  question  mocks  me  with  its  own  echo.  Where  is  she 
who  was  so  merry,  who  knew  the  people  that  I  know,  who  studied  the  books 
that  I  study,  who  liked  “  Bleak  House,”  who  laughed  at  Micawber  and  Trad- 
dles  and  read  the  daily  Tribune.  Where  is  she  who  picked  up  pebbles 
with  me  by  the  lake  and  ran  races  with  me  in  the  garden  ;  who  sang  Juniata 
and  Star-spangled  Banner?  She  was  so  much  alive,  I  can  not  think  of  her 
as  disembodied  and  living  still.  Then  there  is  that  horrible  doctrine  held 
by  many  who  are  wise  and  good,  that  the  soul  is  unconscious  until  the  res¬ 
urrection.  That  idea  worries  me  not  a  little.  Then,  too,  I  am  coming  right 
straight  on  to  the  same  doom  :  I,  who  sit  here  this  bright  morning,  with 
carefully  made  toilet,  attentive  eyes,  ears  open  to  every  sound  I,  with  my 


One  Day  ’ s  Work . 


171 

thousand  thoughts,  my  steady-beating  heart,  shall  lie  there  so  still,  so  cold 
and  for  so  long.  It  is  coming  toward  me  every  moment,  such  a  fate  as  that ! 
But  my  religion  tells  me  that  my  life  shall  be  unending.  One  interpretation 
of  my  creed  says  that  consciousness  shall  be  uninterrupted  both  here  and 
there,  that  fruition  awaits  us  in  the  years  where  every  minute  shall  be  full  of 
overflowing  and  nothing  shall  have  power  to  disappoint.  How  much  a 
human  heart  can  bear,  and  how  it  can  adjust  itself!  Four  months  ago  to¬ 
day  I  thought  if  Mary  died  I  should  be  crazed  ;  it  made  me  shiver  just  to 
take  the  thought  on  my  brain’s  edge,  and  yet  to-day  I  think  of  Mary  dead 
just  as  naturally  as  I  used  to  think  of  her  alive.  Yet  God  knows  how  well 
I  loved  my ‘sister  and  how  deeply  she  is  mourned.  Here  on  a  piece  of  blot¬ 
ting  paper  I  keep  in  my  book  is  her  name  written  over  and  over  again  in 
her  careless  round  hand.  She  used  to  borrow  this  same  piece  of  paper  to 
dry  the  fresh  pages  of  her  own  journal  not  many  weeks  ago.  Oh,  dainty 
little  hand,  I  should  not  like  to  touch  you  now  ! 

September  17. — This  young  person,  E.  E.  W.,  reports  herself  tired  and 
proceeds  to  show  cause  therefor.  Rose  a  little  after  six,  made  my  toilet  for 
the  day  and  helped  to  arrange  the  room  ;  went  to  breakfast,  looked  over  the 
lessons  of  the  day,  although  I  had  already  done  that  yesterday  ;  conducted 
devotions  in  the  chapel ;  heard  advanced  class  in  arithmetic,  one  in  geome¬ 
try,  one  in  elementary  algebra,  one  in  Wilson’s  “Universal  History  talked 
with  Miss  Clark  at  noon  ;  dined,  rose  from  the  table  to  take  charge  of  an 
elocution  class,  next  zoology,  next  geology,  next  physiology,  next  mineral¬ 
ogy,  then  came  upstairs  and  sat  down  in  my  rocking-chair  as  one  who  would 
prefer  to  rise  no  more  !  Now  I  have  to-morrow’s  lessons  to  go  over. 

September  18. —  I  have  the  sorrow  to  write  here  that  Forest  Home  is 
sold.  The  time  has  been  when  I  could  not  for  a  moment  have  contem¬ 
plated  the  probability  of  its  passing  into  other  hands  than  ours  who  created 
and  w'ho  loved  it.  Alas  for  the  changes  of  the  great  year  of  my  history, 
1862.  I  am  to  lose  sight  of  the  old,  familiar  landmarks,  old  things  are 
passing  from  me  whose  love  is  for  old  things.  I  am  pushing  out  all  by  my¬ 
self  into  the  wide,  wide  sea. 

“The  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land.” 

October  3. —  My  twenty-third  birthday  has  come  and  gone  without  even 
a  passing  remark.  On  Monday  my  brother  Oliver  started  for  Denver 
Col.,  after  having  been  ordained  a  Methodist  minister,  at  Joliet,  by  Bishop 
Baker.  Mother  is  going  East  to  see  our  relatives  ;  she  greatly  needs  the 
change.  Father  will  board  in  Chicago  this  winter,  probably,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life  I  shall  have  no  home.  There  is  a  grave  in  Rose  Hill 
cemetery  ;  most  of  these  changes  may  be  traced  to  it  as  their  cause. 

“The  same  fond  mother  bent  at  night 
O’er  each  fair  sleeper’s  brow  ; 

She  had  each  folded  flower  in  sight, 

Where  are  those  dreamers  now?  ” 

October  11.  — Have  been  ill  a  wTeek  since  I  wrote  last.  Dear,  unforget- 
ful  mother  has  nursed  me  up  again.  It  almost  paid  to  be  sick  to  have 


172 


Teacher  and  Pupil. 


people  so  sweet  and  mindful.  My  girls  were  marvels  of  loving  kindness. 
Well,  I  conclude  that  I  can  not  stand  very  much,  rrot  so  much  as  I  supposed. 
I  am  just  a  trifle  discouraged  to-night  about  the  prospect  before  me.  1 
thought  this  last  week  as  I  lay  in  the  bed,  that  perhaps  God,  seeing  how 
I  wonder  about  that  other  life,  would  let  me  out  into  it,  and  it  wTould  seem 
so  natural  to  my  sister  Mary  to  have  me  with  her  once  again.  I  refresh 
myself  little  with  reading  nowadays.  Miss  Clark  and  I  corrected  the  compo¬ 
sitions  all  the  evening.  I  stipulated  for  Ada’s  in  my  lot.  Ada,  dear,  refined 
girl,  fit  to  be  Charles  Gifford’s  sister.  I  like  the  ideal,  Heaven  is  that !  We 
get  hints  of  it  here  though,  some  of  us.  Luella  Clark  does  and  it  is  her 
chief  charm  for  me.  Things  are  not  so  endlessly  commonplace  to  her  as 
they  are  to  most  folks.  A  red  leaf  out  of  the  woods,  a  bouquet,  a  cluster  of 
grapes,  these  are  a  great  deal  to  her.  She  puts  her  ear  close  down  to  nature, 
listens  and  hears.  I  wish  I  might  do  this  more,  but  then  I  shall  when  mor¬ 
tality  drops  off,  and  I  have  those  acute,  tense  senses  of  my  spiritual  self 
that  Swedenborg  tells  us  of,  and  I  believe  him.  Ella  Simpson,  dear  unfail¬ 
ing  friend,  for  all  these  years,  has  had  my  classes  while  I  have  been  ill. 
Dr.  Tiffany  is  our  minister  and  I  am  more  thankful  than  I  can  express  for 
the  prospect  of  hearing  good  preaching  once  more. 

October  12. — Up  here  in  my  room,  while  the  people  go  to  church,  I 
wratch  the  long  procession  of  young  ladies  file  out  along  the  walks  and 
through  the  trees.  The  gate  under  the  pretty  arch  bangs  together  as  the 
last  one  passes  through.  One  of  my  pupils,  Josie,  is  sitting  with  me,  and 
I  have  made  her  talk,  trying  to  draw  her  out  a  little,  in  a  friendly  way, 
asking  her’if  she  likes  her  studies,  if  she  likes  to  learn  new  things,  if  she 
likes  to  read  refined  books,  if  she  loves  people,  if  she  tries  to  make  them 
love  her,  if  she  tries  to  do  them  good,  if  she  has  ambitions  and  what  she 
expects  from  life.  She  answers  wfith  frankness  and  enthusiasm.  There  is 
rare  delicacy  in  the  girl.  Then  wTe  sit  by  th|  window  in  her  room.  This 
wTas  Mattie  Hill’s  once,  and  in  it  I  have  played  many  a  school-girl  prank 
I  tell  Josie  so  as  we  sit  here.  She  lets  me  into  the  history  of  her  life,  wdiich 
has  been  sorrowful,  and  wTe  make  a  few  wondering  remarks  over  God’s 
providences.  Then  wTe  talk  a  little  of  being  good,  and  I  speak  somewdiat  of 
my  sister  Mary,  and  how  she  lived  and  died,  while  I  get  a  little  nearer  in 
heart  to  pretty,  sad-faced  Josie.  As  I  turn  to  leave  her  room,  she  kisses  me, 
and  says,  “  You  are  the  first  one  that  has  talked  to  me  about  being  good  since 
I  have  been  in  this  school.  I  wish  you  would  do  so  often.”  I  go  back  to  my 
room,  praying  that  God  may  make  me  well  again,  and  that  I  may  love  all 
these  girls  and  they  me,  and  that  I  may  do  them  only  good.  Then  I  sit 
down  cozy  and  contented  to  read  Harbaugh’s  ‘‘Sainted  Dead,”  looking 
out  often  at  the  window  on  the  bright  trees  and  sunshine  of  this  pleasant, 
pleasant  world,  thinking  my  thoughts  between  the  author’s  sentences,  and 
feeling  very  full  of  wonder  about  my  sister  Mary.  I  learn  that  this  author 
thinks  heaven  is  a  place  somewhere  far  away,  and  that  the  soul  never 
sleeps,  not  even  for  a  single  moment,  and  I  find  this  sweet  quotation  :  “  Selig 
sind  die  das  Himmelreich  haben ,  denn  sie  sollen  nach  Hause  kommen .” 
(Blessed  are  they  who  have  heaven  within  them,  for  they  shall  come  home.') 


The  Little  Cat. 


*73 


I  think  the  book  has  not  a  page  worth  that.  I  read  a  chapter  in  my  Ger¬ 
man  Testament,  “Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden.” 
Then  the  folks  come  back  from  church,  and  my  queer  little  pupil,  Lizzie  B. 
comes  to  my  room.  I  ask  Miss  Fisk,  my  room-mate,  about  the  sermon, 
she  comments  briefly,  the  bell  rings,  and  they  all  go  down  to  dinner. 
My  room-mate  brings  me  mine  in  her  quiet,  kindly  way,  and  Misses  Harvey, 
Sewall  and  Bunnell  sit  around  me  while  I  eat.  I  like  the  toast,  and  have 
some  zest  for  the  delicate,  amber-colored  jelly.  Miss  Sewall  tells  me  of 
her  home  between  the  two  Miami  rivers.  Miss  Holmes  comes  in  to  get 
excused  from  “Biblical  Antiquities.”  My  dear  Luella  Clark  enters  with 
the  last  Repository ,  and  Dr.  Johnson’s  book  of  sermons  labeled  “  Con¬ 
solation.”  She  tells  me  she  went  “way  up  to  Professor  Noyes’  for  the 
book  on  purpose  to  read  from  it  to  me.”  How  very  kind  she  has  been 
to  me  always,  when  I  was  a  pupil  and  now  when  we  are  both  “faculty 
folks”  !  The  girls  go  off  to  Sunday-school,  Miss  Clark  sits  with  me  and  we 
talk.  She  gets  me  to  wrap  up,  and  we  go  to  walk  in  the  garden,  for  she 
thinks  a  sun  bath  is  what  I  need.  Swedenborg’s  book  is  in  her  hand, 
brought  at  my  suggestion,  and  she  reads  here  and  there  as  we  sit  on  the 
stile,  while  we  talk  of  the  Swedish  seer  and  his  professed  revelations.  I  in¬ 
cline  to  look  with  favor  on  it  all,  and  say,  “  Why  should  not  God  in  some 
way  supplement  that  mysterious  apocalypse  of  John  ;  for  we  are  all  longing 
to  know  more  about  the  other  life — at  least  I  am,  in  these  days.”  She  says 
Swedenborg’s  belief  is  too  materialistic,  but  his  ideas  of  special  providences 
she  likes  exceedingly.  A  little  gray  cat  comes  and  sits  by  us.  We  wonder 
at  the  graceful  little  creature,  and  fall  into  a  dozen  queries  over  it,  for  we 
are  in  a  querying  mood.  Miss  Clark  takes  it  up  in  her  arms,  smooths  its  fur, 
and  says,  “  Poor  creature  !  You  noticed  us  and  followed  us  with  your  big, 
curious  eyes.  You  make  the  very  best  of  life  you  can  ;  you  like  to  jump 
and  play  about,  and  it  grieves  me  to  think  how  your  life  will  all  flicker  out 
after  a  little,  not  to  revive  again.”  Then  I  tell  her  how  fond  I  am  of  the 
kind  old  “  Country  Parson”  (“A.  K.  H.  B.”),  and  repeat  what  he  said  to  his 
horse,  “  Old  Boy,”  out  in  the  stable,  in  that  genial,  generous  passage  with 
this  sentence  in  it:  “For  you,  my  poor  fellow-creature,  I  think  with  sor¬ 
row,  as  I  write  upon  your  head,  there  remains  no  such  immortality  as 
remains  for  me.”  Then  Miss  Clark  tells  me  anecdotes  about  her  pets  when 
she  was  a  little  child,  away  off  in  New  England,  where  I  have  never  been. 

I  fail  to  wondering  about  this  strange  Being  who  made  the  little  cat  and 
gave  to  her  feet  their  active  motion,  who  pushed  out  of  the  ground  the  little 
flower  that  Miss  Clark  plucked  for  me  from  the  borders  as  she  walked,  who 
made  my  favorite  heliotrope.  I  hold  two  leaves  of  it  on  the  palm  of  my 
hand,  one  green  with  sap,  one  black  with  frost,  and  wonder  at  the  difference 
between  the  two.  I  see  the  leaves  dying  on  the  beautiful  trees  of  the  college 
grove,  and  I  wonder  what  God  thinks  as  He  sees  this  world  that  He  has 
made,  and  we  poor,  blind  creatures  groping  along  through  it.  Then  I  remem¬ 
ber  that  “  God  is  love,”  and  that  thought  quiets  me.  We  go  into  the  house, 
up  to  my  room  again,  and  Miss  Clark  begins  to  read  toi  me  from  the  book 
she  brought.  Soon  comes  a  low  rap  at  the  door,  and  my  friend  Emma 


174 


“  The  Slaves  are  Free." 


enters,  a  very  welcome  visitor  to  me,  with  her  refined  face  and  large  gray 
eyes.  Pretty  soon  my  pupil  Lizzie  comes  in,  for  a  chance  to  read  her  Bible 
in  peace,  I  guess,  and  then  the  smart  Bishop  girls  bring  me  news  that  Dr. 
Tiffany  heard  my  “  Biblical  Antiquities”  class  at  church,  telling  me  who 
had  their  lessons  and  who  had  not.  Then  my  friend  Ella  Simpson,  tried 
and  true,  with  Mollie  Ludlam  appear  upon  the  scene  ;  soon  after,  Mary,  my 
kind  sister-in-law.  Now  I  wTill  lay  aside  this  writing  and  try  to  go  to  sleep. 
I  pray  God  to  make  me  well  again,  to  take  away  my  uncertain,  ghostly 
feelings,  and  to  restore  to  me  something  of  the  zest  and  enthusiasm  that 
have  always  been  my  portion.  And  oh,  above  all  other  things,  may  I  rest 
in  the  belief  that  Thou  art  love  ! 

Northwestern  Female  College,  January  i,  1863. — “Abraham  Lincoln 
has  fulfilled  the  pledge,  the  slaves  are  free,”  so  said  Father  Jones  to-night, 
coming  down  late  to  tea,  and  on  the  instant  all  the  girls  clapped  their  hands 
so  heartily  that  it  was  fine  to  see  and  hear  them,  and  far  down  in  my  heart 
something  stirred,  some  chord  was  struck  that  gave  out  music.  How  much 
there  was  to  think  about  just  then  !  Our  girls  sitting  there  so  well  kept  as 
they  are,  so  good  looking,  so  happy  and  contented,  with  the  thought  in 
their  heads  that  four  million  of  wretched  beings  became  this  day  constitu¬ 
tionally  free,  and  the  feeling  in  their  hearts  of  what  a  gift  this  freedom  is  to 
a  human  soul.  It  was  a  thing  that  thrilled  me  beyond  my  power  to  tell, 
one  that  I  am  thankful  has  transpired  in  my  experience,  and  that  I  shall 
think  over  with  frequent  pleasure. 

The  future  rises  before  me  misty,  dark,  moist,  like  an  advancing  wave. 
Steadily  I  march  toward  it,  there  is  no  help,  and  God  is  in  it,  God  who 
manages  affairs.  My  soliloquy  was  :  “  F.  E.  W.,  wThy  do  you  plan  to  go  on 
teaching  ad  infinitum,  now  here,  now  there,  and  then  some  other  w'liere? 
Why  do  you  content  yourself  with  such  a  hedged-up  life,  with  acquiring 
money  so  slowly,  with  an  allotment  so  obscure?  There  is  no  need  of  it. 
You  have  abilities  for  something  beyond  this.  Don’t  cheat  yourself  out  of 
your  rights.  Do  you  know  that  sometimes  as  you  help  arrange  the  room, 
or  make  your  toilet,  or  take  your  solitary  walks,  you  think  of  splendid 
paragraphs  that  you  never  write  out — idle  creature  that  you  are  ?  Do  you 
know  that  you  have  a  great  many  kind,  fresh,  beautiful  thoughts  that  you 
never  tell  ?  Do  you  know  that  new  and  striking  comparisons  come  to  you, 
and  pleasant,  queer  ideas,  and  you  let  them  pass  in  and  out,  leaving  not 
even  a  sedimentary  deposit  there.  Stir  yourself ;  be  determined  to  write 
books  if  you  please.  Why  not?  Be  intent  upon  it.  Your  flight  of  useful¬ 
ness  might  be  very  much  extended.  God  thinks  it  right  to  have  ambitions  ; 
you  are  on  the  earth,  now  deal  with  the  earthy,  ‘feel  the  victory  in  you,’ 
that  is  your  father’s  quaint,  expressive  phrase.  And  now,  to  be  pointed 
and  make  the  application,  write  next  year,  write.  It  is  nonsense  to  think 
you  can  not  do  it  while  you  are  teaching.  You  expect  to  visit  Boston  in  the 
summer.  Take  to  that  city  an  essay  on  the  writings  of  William  Mountfort, 
an  essay  on  a  tolerant  spirit,  a  novelette  entitled  ‘Philip,’  and  a  chastely 
written  memoir  of  your  sister  Mary.  Now,  do  this  without  fail.  You  can. 


CHAPTER  V. 


PITTSBURGH  FEMALE  COLLEGE. 

(1863-1864.) 

Several  persons  have  stood  at  the  parting  of  the  roads  for  me, 
and  almost  all  of  them  have  been  animated  finger-posts  pointing 
towards  a  better  and  an  upward  path.  Mrs.  Bishop  Simpson 
was  the  first  whose  presence  brought  to  me  a  greatly  widened 
circle.  The  Bishop  had  lived  for  several  years  only  one  street 
from  us,  and  the  young  people  of  the  two  families  had  been  quite 
intimate.  The  Bishop,  though  at  home  only  during  brief  inter¬ 
vals  was  the  central  figure  and  beloved  hero  of  the  town,  where 
during  his  three  or  four  years’  residence  he  preached  and 
lectured  not  less  than  thirty  times.  His  eldest  daughter,  Ella, 
more  like  himself  than  any  other  of  his  children,  was  a  school 
friend  and  companion  in  many  a  pleasant,  confidential  ramble 
through  the  woods  and  down  by  the  lake  shore.  Now  when 
my  sister’s  mystical  departure  had  changed  all,  and  my  parents 
were  so  heart-broken  that  they  went  away  and  boarded  in  Janes¬ 
ville,  and  aftenvards  in  Chicago,  while  I  was  teaching,  in  this 
small,  rudimentary  way,  I  found  what  friends  I  had  in  this  now 
historic  family.  Heartsick  and  homesick  I  had  taken  to  my 
b£d,  and  from  very  listlessness  seemed  disinclined  to  leave  it. 
Hearing  of  this,  Mrs.  Simpson  came  down  to  see  me,  and  in  her 
emphatic  tones  said  to  me,  ‘  ‘  Frank,  it  is  absurd  for  you  to  stay 
here  in  one  village  all  your  days.  My  husband  is  President  of 
the  Board  of  Trustees  of’  Pittsburgh  College  ;  it  is  a  fine,  large 
institution  in  the  heart  of  a  leading  city  noted  for  the  remark¬ 
ably  good  health  of  the  inhabitants  Now,  you  just  have  your 
trunk  packed  and  be  ready  to  start  within  a  week,  for  I  am 
sure  we  can  arrange  it  so  that  you  can  have  classes  to  hear, 

enough,  at  least,  to  pay  all  your  expenses  and  doubtless  some- 

(175) 


176 


First  Day  at  Pittsburgh. 


thing  more.”  Her  words  did  me  a  world  of  good.  I  consulted 
with  the  faculty,  of  which  I  was  a  junior  member,  and  they 
agreed  to  let  me  go,  so  that  a  new  world  opened  before  me  as 
widely  different  from  anything  heretofore  known  as  is  conserva¬ 
tive  Pennsylvania,  with  its  mountains,  mines  and  valleys,  from 
the  broad  prairies  and  progressive  spirit  of  the  West. 

The  new  life  will  best  be  told  in  its  own  vernacular,  as  my 
journal  sets  it  down : 

Pittsburgh  Femaee  Coeeege,  January  26,  1863. 

“  Give  battle  to  the  leagued  world  ; 

If  thou  art  truly  brave 
Thou  shalt  make  the  hardest  circumstance 
A  helper  or  a  slave.” 

Very  aimlessly  I  have  scrawled  the  above  heading.  Very  aimlessly 
now  I  am  racing  my  uew  “  Gillott  ”  across  the  first  page  of  Journal  Book 
No.  17.  Sitting  here  in  Doctor  Pershing's  office,  in  his  easy-cliair  with  the 
writing-table  attachment,  coal  glowing  in  the  grate,  teams  passing  through 
the  muddy  street  outside,  the  tinkling  of  the  school  pianos  in  my  ears  min¬ 
gling  with  the  voices  of  the  girls  in  the  halls,  sitting  here  thus  surrounded  I 
thank  God  for  life, — for  life  continued  on  the  earth.  My  last  winter  day, 
may  be  gliding  away  from  me  now  just  as  our  Mary’s  were  one  year  ago, 
when  we  laughed  and  studied  together.  Next  January  my  grave  may  be 
curved  under  the  snow  as  now  her’s  is,  oh,  Mary  !  But  now  I  live,  I  am 
surrounded  with  matter,  or,  to  put  it  more  truly,  I  am  a  spirit  enshrined  in 
matter,  and  for  this  I  am  thankful,  I  hardly  know  why.  Perhaps  simply 
because  it  is  so  natural.  I  am  glad  I  came  here,  I  am  to  like  it,  I  know.  By- 
and-by  I,  who  am  a  stranger  here,  may  find  sweet  friends  and  be  called  by 
beautiful,  endearing  names,  and  I  am  to  learn  much  that  is  new  and  good  ; 
indeed,  I  have  already.  I  mean  to  do  my  best  to  be  as  good  a  teacher  as 
my  abilities  will  permit,  and  to  win  the  love  and  respect  of  these  strangers 
to  myself,  if  it  be  possible.  I  wish  to  make  it  a  happy  thing  for  some  of 
them  that  I  came  here  among  them,  and  not  a  thing  unpleasant  for  any  one. 
This  first  Monday  of  my  new  experience,  my  classes  have  gone  off  credit¬ 
ably  and  I  am  not  dissatisfied  with  the  result  of  the  day’s  effort.  Before  it 
was  light,  nice  Fanny  Fish,  my  room-mate,  and  I,  rose,  dressed  and  went  to 
devotions  in  the  chapel  before  breakfast.  Professor  Johnson,  a  refined, 
sweet  little  man — whom,  with  his  wife  I  greatly  like,  indeed,  I  like  him  rather 
better — read  and  prayed.  After  breakfast  we  returned  to  our  room  and  did 
our  work.  Then  I  went  to  smart  Miss  Scull’s  room  and  together  we  called 
011  Miss  Teel ;  the  first  is  the  head  teacher  among  the  ladies,  the  second  is 
teacher  of  drawing  and  painting.  By  much  maneuvering  we  arranged  to 
have  Miss  Scull  take  the  arithmetic,  for  which  I  have  no  “call,”  and  I  am 
to  take  her  class  in  elocution.  What  a  weight  went  off  my  shoulders  then  ! 
I  looked  over  my  geometry,  history,  etc.  Being  the  youngest  teacher  I 
have  no  school-room  to  superintend. 


' 


- 


The  Open  Secret. 


177 


“The  Open  Secret’’  fascinates  me  ;  sometimes  it  looms  up  misty  and 
awful  for  a  moment,  but  when  I  fairly  look,  it  has  disappeared  unread. 
Habitude  is  its  safe  mask.  And  that  is  one  reason  why  habits  seem  half 
hateful  to  me,  but  I  know  this  is  not  right.  Oh,  if  I  could  but  see  !  Two 
afternoons  ago  I  was  upon  the  street.  A  child  was  coming  toward  me  with 
a  basket  on  his  arm  ;  opposite,  a  servant  cleared  the  sidewalk  with  her 
broom  ;  just  as  I  passed  a  forge  where  blackened  men  were  working,  a  lady 
crossed  the  street  ahead  of  me.  The  instant  that  I  looked  at  her,  a  hint  at 
the  open  secret  of  the  universe  flashed  through  me,  taking  away  my  breath. 
It  went  again  an  instant  afterward.  I  can  not  tell  you  what  it  was,  but  0I1 
the  vastness  of  it  weighed  me  down.  Are  we  to  read  it  in  this  life,  I  wonder, 
even  when  the  Ripest  Age  has  come?  I  almost  think  that  no  man  shall  look 
it  in  the  face  and  live.  We  may  talk  of  it,  long  for  it,  learn  its  alphabet, 
but  with  our  last  breath  only  shall  it  stand  before  us  clear  and — perhaps  ter¬ 
rible  !  Schiller’s  final  words,  “  Many  things  grow  plain  to  me,”  gives  a  hint 
of  this.  But  oh,  of  late  it  is  almost  always  in  my  thoughts,  it  winds  itself  in 
every  reverie  of  Mary.  I  have  thought  of  God  to-day,  of  “that  wonderful, 
wonderful  world,”  as  Mary  called  it  in  her  incoherent  sentences  the  last 
night  that  we  ever  slept  together,  when  the  misty  depths  beyond  us  seemed 
to  lias’e  been  penetrated  a  little  way  by  her  sweet  spirit  so  soon  to  depart. 
Social  life  in  this  world  blinds  us  and  stupefies  us  as  too  much  confection¬ 
ery  makes  a  child  ill.  The  kind  God  of  many  a  well-bred  family  on  their 
knees  around  their  glowing  grate,  with  warm  and  sense-pleasing  things 
about  them,  is  little  better  than  the  Tares  and  Penates  of  iFneas  and  his 
people.  He  is  a  domestic  God.  or  at  least,  He  is  the  one  wre  worship  “in 
our  church.”  This  is  said  without  bigotry  by  them,  too,  and  only  in  mem¬ 
ory  of  their  luxuriously-cushioned  pews,  beautiful  stained-glass  windows 
and  melodious  organ,  and  with  the  thought  of  their  well-dressed,  gentle¬ 
manly  pastor,  besides.  I  write  this  not  in  bitterness.  I  have  seen  that  it  is 
true.  Oh,  for  a  glimpse  at  Him  who  is  without  beginning  and  wnthout 
limitation  !  We  use  these  words,  the  wonder  is  that  we  have  got  so  far, 
but  a  little  bird  raising  its  head  in  grateful  acknowledgment  to  heaven 
as  the  water-drops  pass  down  its  throat,  knows  what  the  words  mean 
as  well  as  we  do.  Ecce  Homo  !  Let  us  take  that  in  as  best  wre  may. 

I  thought  to-day  of  another  church  where  often  and  often  I  have  sat 
contentedly  listening  to  what  was  given  me  to  hear.  Father  and  mothei 
were  no  doubt  in  opposite  corners  of  the  old  pew,  to-day,  and  they  have 
dreamed  sadly  of  those  who  used  to  sit  between,  of  me,  of  Oliver,  away  by 
the  Rocky  Mountains,  of  Mary,  away  by  the  River  of  Life.  I  have  the  feel¬ 
ing  of  one  who  walks  blindfold  among  scenes  too  awful  for  his  nerves  to 
bear,  in  the  midst  of  which  we  eat  and  drink,  wash  our  faces  and  complain 
that  the  fire  won’t  burn  in  the  grate,  or  that  the  tea-bell  does  n’t  ring  in 
season.  We  are  like  a  spider’s  wTeb  in  some  remote  angle  of  St.  Peter’s 
Cathedral.  I  suppose  the  cunning  insects  flurry  greatly  if  a  gnat  flies  past 
without  being  entrapped  !  All  that  appertains  to  the  building  from  floor  to 

dome  is  accidental  in  their  sight. 

VI 


i78 


A  Botanical  Outing. 


A  letter  from  Emma  lias  made  Pittsburgh  with  its  smoke  and  forges  to 
be  quite  forgotten  for  awhile,  and  put  me  into  a  Utopia  all  my  own. 

May  2. — It  is  a  queer  place  that  I  am  in.  I  would  give  a  good  deal  for  a 
painting  of  the  scene  around  me.  Professor  G.’s  botany  class,  with  a  few  in¬ 
vited  friends,  is  spending  the  day  among  the  hills.  About  thirty  of  us  took 
the  street-cars  this  morning  and  came  out  into  a  beautiful  valley,  took  a 
long  walk  on  the  bank  of  the  Ohio,  amid  charming  scenery  ;  climbed  the 
highest  hills,  that  I,  a  prairie  girl,  have  ever  seen,  and  are  now  encamped 
on  Jack’s  Run,  a  murmuring  little  stream.  The  scene  is  picturesque.  I  am 
painfully  conscious  that  my  pen  can  do  no  justice  to  it,  can  hardly  give  a 
hint,  a  sign,  to  stand  for  its  calm  beauty.  Perched  nearly  on  the  top  of 
a  queer  mound  of  limestone,  I  am  sitting,  monarch  of  nothing  that  my  eye 
surveys,  and  yet  in  my  poverty  content.  I  wish  Emma  could  see  me  just 
now,  or  Euella  Clark  ;they  would  know  the  costume,  all  black,  with  a  little 
hat  Emma  has  seen  rising  out  of  a  hollow  many  times  as  I  took  my  evening 
horseback  ride  and  always  went  to  her.  The  eye-glasses  and  veil  drooping 
to  one  side  would  be  less  familiar,  for  I  never  wTore  eye-glasses  until  sub¬ 
merged  in  this  Pittsburgh  darkness  in  the  midst  of  which  I  can  not  see  my 
pupils  in  the  chapel  except  by  artificial  aid.  I  think  of  Shirley,  which  I 
finished  reading  this  morning  and  of  Louis  Moore.  No  female  character 
in  any  book  suits  me,  like  Shirley.  Such  fire  and  freedom,  such  uncalcu¬ 
lating  devotion  to  a  master,  command  my  hearty  admiration.  Oh,  so  much 
better  to  wait  for  years  and  years,  if  we  may  hope  to  find  at  last  the  one 
who  can  be  all  things  to  the  heart !  I  am  glad,  heartily  glad,  that  I  did  not 
perjure  myself  in  1S62.  But  I  digress.  The  highest  kind  of  hills  inclose 
us  ;  the  water  drips,  drips,  drips,  over  the  uneven  stones,  and  I  listen  while 
the  music  and  the  murmur  sink  into  my  heart  and  make  me  richer-natured 
for  evermore.  At  my  right  a  ledge  of  rocks  rises  perpendicularly,  and  on 
its  top  grow  trees.  At  the  foot  of  it  a  group  of  girls  recline  in  various  grace¬ 
ful  attitudes,  a  botany  among  them,  and  a  rare  flower,  a  yellow  trillium, 
going  through  the  ordeal  of  analysis.  Across  the  little  stream  is  a  small, 
white  house,  the  home  of  some  quiet  farmer  and  those  who  love  and  look  to 
him.  A  peach  tree  in  full  bloom  is  in  his  yard  ;  his  son,  as  I  choose  to 
think,  sits  in  a  chair  by  the  open  door,  while  he  himself  is  plowing  near 
by.  The  furrows  are  not  those  shining  black  ones  that  we  used  to  like  to 
walk  on  as  they  fell  off  from  the  plowshare,  Mary  and  I.  Two  of  the  smaller 
girls  run  about  gathering  flowers  ;  sweet,  gleeful  faces  they  have,  their  child¬ 
ish  enthusiasm  I  look  upon  with  smiles,  partly  in  memory  of  my  own  sunny 
years  of  early  life.  It  is  a  kind,  sweet  scene  about  me.  Its  beauty  makes 
me  glad.  Thank  God  for  this  pleasant  day  of  spring.  All  these  things  talk 
to  me,  though  I  can  not  translate  every  message  which  the  wonderful,  mys¬ 
terious  Power  sends  to  me  by  way  of  bud  and  blossom,  sky  and  tree.  If 
only  some  one  dear  to  me  would  take  my  hand  and  look  into  my  eyes  with 
wise,  kind  words  to-day  !  If  I  might  speak  as  I  can  not  write  what  fills  my 
heart,  I  should  be  as  complete  as  we  can  be  011  earth.  A  rain-drop  falls  on 
the  page  as  I  am  writing.  A  sudden  shower,  while  the  sun  shines  ;  the 


A  i  Vordless  Secret. 


179 


group  of  girls  below  me  scramble  after  liat  and  shawl.  The  day  outside  of 
town  is  passed.  I  too,  must  go ;  so,  fair,  gentle  scene,  good-by. 

May  5. — Evening.  Sitting  in  my  room.  What  is  it,  I  wonder,  that  I 
keep  wanting  to  say  ?  It  never  comes  to  my  lips  nor  to  the  point  of  my  pen. 
I  am  almost  sure  that  God  does  not  mean  that  I  shall  say  this  while  I  live 
on  the  earth,  and  yet  it  stirs  in  every  pulse,  it  lies  back  of  every  true 
thought,  but  it  has  never  yet  been  told.  Some  of  my  best  essays  are  studies 
for  it ;  sentences  that  I  have  hurriedly,  earnestly,  spoken  to  a  friend’s  soul 
with  which  for  the  hour  I  was  en  rapport ,  have  been  guesses  about  it ;  the 
kindling  eye  and  flushing  cheek  have  told  a  little  of  it,  but  it  will  never  be 
uttered  right  out  loud  except  in  deeds  of  happiness  and  valor  ;  it  lives  on  in 
my  heart  unsaid,  and  even  in  my  prayers  unsaid.  It  comes  so  strangely  near 
me,  how  or  why  I  can  not  tell.  I  have  seen  in  the  eyes  of  animals,  so  wist¬ 
ful,  so  hopeless  in  their  liquid  depths,  some  hint  at  what  I  mean.  That 
mournful  flower,  the  gentian,  with  its  fringed  corolla,  is  to  me  like  the 
sweeping  eyelash  that  directs  a  loving,  revealing  glance,  and  gives  a  new 
hint  at  that  which  I  can  feel,  but  can  not  tell.  The  dripping  of  water  tries 
to  spell  out  some  simple  words  of  it,  and  the  blackbird’s  note  or  the  robin’s 
song,  these  help  me  wonderfully.  The  royal  colored  clouds  of  sunset  make 
it  clearer  and  a  long  gaze  upward  through  the  depths  of  the  night, 

“When  the  welkin  above  is  all  white, 

All  throbbing  and  panting  with  stars,” 

makes  the  secret  clearest  of  all.  The  thought  of  this,  which  I  can  only 
speak  about,  has  been  with  me  all  day",  like  an  ethereal  perfume  ;  has  wrapped 
itself  around  me  as  a  cloud  of  incense,  and  yet  I  have  been  through  with 
the  usual  number  of  classes,  absorbed  the  plain,  substantial  fare  of  breakfast, 
dinner  and  tea  eagerly,  and  read  the  daily"  papers.  Hooker’s  triumphant 
march  thus  far  toward  Richmond  has  made  my  heart  beat  faster  than  love 
or  pride  has  done  since  the  Garden  City  was  left  behind. 

Two  letters  have  been  received  from  two  poet-souled  women  in  obscure 
life,  and  for  the  time  they  have  transfigured  me.  Full  of  insight  they  were, 
for  these  women  love  much  and  read  the  significance  of  destiny  by  clear 
burning  tapers  lighted  at  the  altar  of  consecration  to  their  homes.  I  have 
read  of  the  French  Revolution,  and  Charlotte  Corday,  and  the  Unknown 
and  Invisible  has  risen  before  me  misty  and  dark  as  I  wonder  what  vision 
burst  on  the  freed  soul  of  that  marvelous  girl  as  she  lay  on  the  plank  of  the 
scaffold  and  “  the  beam  dropped,  the  blade  glided,  the  head  fell.”  I  have 
listened  to  the  Bible  reading  at  our  quiet  chapel  prayers,  and  pondered 
much  over  Job’s  words,  “Why  should  a  man  contend  against  God?”  and 
as  I  thought,  my  soul  went  out  after  Him,  this  awful,  overwhelming  Power 
that  holds  all  things  in  equilibrium,  and  has  come  back  again  with  some 
dim,  shuddering  consciousness  that  He  is,  and  some  sweet  faith  that  *“  He 
is  a  rewarder  of  all  such  as  diligently  seek  him.”  I  have  looked  at  my 
pliant,  active  fingers,  and  wondered  over  this  strange,  imparted  force  that 
is  ordained  to  live  a  while  in  me,  that  joins  itself  in  some  weird  way  to 
muscle,  sinew,  tissue  and  bone  ;  that  filters  through  my  nerves  and  make 


i8o 


1 1  Slop  }  rou  r  Scrouging.  ’  ’ 


all  things  alive,  among  them  the  organic,  shape  that  is  called  me.  I  wish  I 
could  talk  to-night  with  some  one  who  would  say,  with  quick,  emphatic 
gesture,  “Yes,  I  understand,  I  have  felt  so,  too.”  “  Be  Caesar  to  thyself.  ” 
The  words  are  brave,  but  to-night  I  am  too  tired  to  say  them  truly,  and  so  I 
will  pray  to  God  and  go  to  sleep. 

May  15. — Mary  Willard  is  my  one  thought,  even  more  truly  now,  I  think, 
than  when  I  was  in  Evanston.  But  the  stunning  weight  is  not  always  upon 
me.  Like  an  object  held  too  near  the  eyes  to  be  distinctly  seen,  so  has 
her  memory  often  been  ;  but  to-night  I  held  the  awful  Providence  at  arms- 
length  and  looked  at  it  fairly.  Oh,  if  I  could  keep  my  face  and  form  for¬ 
ever  young,  if  I  could  save  myself  from  such  a  fate  as  Mary’s  !  But  there 
is  no  release.  In  all  nature  there  is  no  law  so  inexorable  as  this:  “Dust 
thou  art,  and  unto  dust  shalt  thou  return.”  Oh,  Frances  Willard,  aspiring 
mortal !  Hungry  for  love  and  fame,  and  thirsty  for  the  nectar  of  life,  grasp¬ 
ing  after  the  beautiful  and  bright,  but  crying  out  so  often  at  the  thorns  that 
prick  when  you  would  feebly  reach  out  for  the  good — God  pity  you  !  And 
so  He  will.  “  He  doth  not  willingly  afflict.”  He  who  loves  us  best  is  at  the 
helm.  If  He  has  ordained  that  we  shall  die,  it  is  but  that  He  may  take  us 
nearer  to  Himself.  Mary  knows  that. 

May  17.— I  have  been  reading  the  Presbyterian  account  of  the  first  an¬ 
niversary  of  the  United  States  Christian  Commission,  also  a  sketch  of  the 
oraior,  Anna  E.  Dickinson.  My  heart  thrills  with  the  hope  of  a  long  life 
on  earth  and  of  seeing  these  persons  that  I  read  about ;  walking  up  and 
down  the  cities,  feeling  the  salt  sea-breeze  in  my  face,  being  at  one  with  the 
great,  pulsating  heart  of  my  race.  I  will  try  for  it.  I  am  bound  to  try.  And 
yet,  on  such  a  morning  as  this  Mary  went  into  the  Silent  Land,  with  her 
hopes  on  earth  all  blighted,  with  unsatisfied  ambitions,  and  unawakeued 
love.  The  earth  side  of  that  Providence  is  pitiful  and  touches  me  even  to 
tears.  The  heaven  side,  doubtless,  is  aglow  with  brightness,  such  as  I  could 
not  see  and  live.  Oh,  the  untold  wonder  of  my  soul ! 

May  27. — For  two  nights  I  have  been  up  till  twelve  or  one.  Night 
before  last  we  had  a  faculty  meeting — the  girls  have  been  “  acting  up,”  as 
they  call  it  here,  in  a  ridiculous  manner.  Their  “pahs”  and  “mails  ”  will 
be  ashamed  of  them.  “  You’uns,”  they  will  say,  “stop  your  scrouging.” 
(Specimens  in  neat  mosaic  of  Pennsylvania  idioms.)  N.  C.  sat  before  the 
assembled  awfulness  of  the  faculty  so  gracefully,  answered  so  readily, 
interpolated  her  “no,  indeed,”  with  such  pretty  emphasis,  and  cried  so 
charmingly  that  I  was  duly  charmed.  I  wanted  to  go  up  and  kiss  her. 
Even  A.,  naughtiest  of  pretty-faced  girls,  I  felt  sorry  for.  Mollie  quite  won 
me  with  her  introductory  sentence,  pronounced  in  that  tired,  childish  voice, 
which  corresponds  with  her  invalid  state,  “I  mean  to  tell  you  just  what  I 
have  done,  the  best  I  know  how.”  The  bell  has  rung,  and  I  have  to  go  to 
another  faculty  meeting.  This  makes  the  third  night  that  I  have  been  up 
at  all  hours. 

May  29. — Two  little  incidents  have  stirred  my  heart  and  taught  me  that 
I  am  not  fossilizing.  Yesterday  on  the  street- car,  coming  from  the  House 
of  Refuge,  several  negroes  sitting  opposite  us,  a  man  in  the  blue  uniform 


One  Year  Ago. 


181 


signaled  the  car.  He  came  limping  up  and  eagerly  the  driver  helped  him 
on  the  platform.  One  of  the  negroes,  a  very  black  and  noble-looking  young 
fellow,  sprang  forward  and  motioned  him  to  his  seat,  but  before  he  could 
reach  it  a  place  was  given  him  nearer  the  door.  A  thrill  came  to  my  heart 
as  the  poor  negro  turned  toward  the  soldier.  They  were  types,  the  two 
men, — one  so  dark  and  one  so  fair,  the  lower  one  looking  to  the  higher, 
grateful  for  his  aid,  turning  to  him  for  help.  The  negroes  know  quite  .well 
for  what  this  war  is  waging. 

The  other  scene.  Virginia  Hart  is  a  sweet  girl  among  my  pupils.  We 
read  for  our  lesson  this  morning  Alice  Cary’s  story  of  her  little  sister 
Dlllie,  to  whom  she  was  unkind,  and  who  died  from  the  effect  of  a  fall  on 
the  very  day  she  used  her  ill.  The  story  is  very  pitiful,  and  touchingly 
told.  Virginia  turned  toward  me  when  we  had  finished,  as  I  dismissed  the 
class,  and  with  tears  in  her  honest  gray  eyes,  said,  “  Miss  Willard,  I  was 
never  unkind  to  my  little  sister  that  died.”  “That  must  be  a  comforting 
thought,  my  child.  How  old  was  she  ?  When  did  she  die  ?  ”  I  asked.  “  Oh, 
a  good  many  years  ago,’’  she  said.  “  She  was  only  nine  years  old.”  “  Have 
you  no  other  sister?”  I  inquired.  “No;  only  a  brother,”  she  replied. 
Poor  child  !  I  wanted  to  tell  her  that  I  had  no  sister,  either,  and  that  was 
why  I  was  wearing  this  black  dress,  but  there  were  so  many  in  the  room 
I  could  not  mention  it.  Through  my  heart  went  the  sad  question,  “Was  I 
ever  unkind  to  Mary?  ”  And  very  mournful  came  the  reply,  “  Many  a  time 
I  was  thoughtless  and  gave  pain  to  the  gentle,  gentle  girl.  I  can  make  no 
wrong  right  now, — not  one.”  Oh,  how  swTeet  and  strange  was  the  voice  in 
which,  one  year  ago,  she  said  tome,  “You  never  were  unkind,  you  were 
always  good  to  me,”  and  she  spoke  to  me  no  more. 

Extract  from  my  poor  father’s  last  letter:  “Yesterday,  for  the  first 

• 

time  this  spring,  we  caught  up  Jack  and  drove  him  to  Rose  Hill.  We  put 
some  flowers  on  Mary’s  grave,  but  oh,  how  tame,  when  I  would  see  her 
face  and  clasp  her  to  my  heart,  tliet  I  must  be  satisfied  with  merely  putting 
a  few  flowers  on  her  grave.  Oh,  vacant  and  pitiful  substitute  !  Well,  w7e 
must  control  ourselves.” 

Sabbath  Day,  May  31. — One  year  ago  to-day  Mary  spent  her  last  Sab¬ 
bath  on  earth.  I  stayed  from  church  ;  we  talked  pleasantly  together  of 
old,  familiar  scenes.  I  read  the  Bible  to  her ;  she  was  better  than  she  had 
been  for  wreeks.  She  wras  really  merry  toward  night,  and  made  many  a 
humorous  speech.  She  did  not  seem  to  think  of  death.  I  felt  sure  she 
would  get  well.  Ah,  on  that  calm,  momentous  Sabbath  I  did  not  see  the 
grave  so  soon  to  be  added  to  the  number  in  Rose  Hill.  I  did  not  see  my 
brother  severed  from  us,  my  home  in  the  hands  of  strangers,  fatlier  and 
mother  left  childless,  myself  far  off  from  all,  at  Liberty  Street  Church  in 
Pittsburgh,  and  in  the  afternoon  at  the  mission  school  on  Prospect  Hill. 
To-day  the  superintendent  brought  flowers  for  every  one.  It  was  a  pretty 
sight  to  see  the  boys  holding  out  their  caps  for  the  blossoms,  to  see  all  the 
poor  children  going  gayly  down  the  street,  each  with  a  handful  of  flow7ers. 
And  then,  with  Mrs.  Holmes  and  Fannie,  I  went  into  a  cellar  where,  for 
four  years  an  old  man,  who  can  not  hear  or  speak,  has  lived  upon  the  char- 


lS2 


War  Rumors. 


ities  of  the  benevolent.  It  was  something  new  to  me,  and  impressed  me 
painfully.  I  gave  the  man  some  tea  that  I  had  brought  at  Mrs.  Holmes’ 
suggestion.  He  looked  at  me  gratefully,  and  put  it  into  his  pocket,  he 
could  not  speak. 

June  i. — Saddest,  sweetest  of  months  !  I  am  sorry  to  spend  it  in  a 
plac&so  dirty,  so  dusty  and  so  dull. 

June  S. — On  this  same  side  of  the  page  in  my  red  journal  one  year  ago 
to-morrow  I  wrote  the  words,  “  Mary  is  dead.  ”  And  I  have  n’t  the  heart  to 
write  now  that  this,  the  first  return  of  that  awful  day,  has  come.  “  Speech  is 
silver,  silence  golden.”  In  silence  I  will  think  my  thoughts.  A  letter 
written  to  father  and  mother,  the  lonely,  lieart-aching  pair,  shall  be  my 
record  of  this  day. 

June  12. — Two  weeks  from  to-day  I  start  for  home.  I  am  very  eager  for 
it,  more  so  than  I  can  tell.  Indeed,  I  think  about  it  all  my  spare  time. 
Father  and  mother,  the  house  and  garden, — Mary’s  grave.  “  Thoughts  that 
do  lie  too  deep  for  tears  ”  go  through  me  as  I  think  of  my  changed  home, 
and  the  pleasant  face  shut  out  of  sight.  It  is  idle  to  write  about  it.  Death 
is  unspeakably  mysterious  and  awful.  The  feeling  of  this  grows  stronger  in 
my  soul.  The  terrible  sentence  rings  in  my  ears,  “I  am  to  die!  Iam  to 
die  !  ”  No  matter  to  what  it  conducts,  the  earth  side  of  it— and  that  is  what 
we  see — is  fearful  enough  to  strike  one  dumb.  Mary  always  viewed  it  so 
herself,  and  yet  it  has  passed  upon  her  ! 

June  16. — Pittsburgh  is- in  a  ferment,  two  thousand  men  are  working  on 
fortifications,  Gen.  Lee’s  army  is  said  to  be  approaching,  and  martial  law  is 
to  be  declared.  Trains  from  the  South  are  forbidden  to  come  to  the  city. 
Miss  Dole,  our  New  England  teacher,  is  very  much  alarmed.  The  girls  are 
distressed,  especially  those  living  to  the  southward,  but  I  am  not  troubled  a 
bit,  nor  any  of  the  teachers  except  Miss  Dole.  It  is  quite  exciting,  though. 
The  President  has  ordered  out  100,000  men,  50,000  of  them  from  Pennsyl¬ 
vania,  but  there  are  so  many  false  alarms  that  it  does  not  do  to  receive  all 
we  hear  as  gospel  on  any  subject. 

Last  night  came  a  long  letter  from  Oliver,  the  first  since  he  went  to 
Denver  last  fall.  It  was  interesting  and  characteristic.  Though  our  roads 
lie  so  far  apart,  and  our  interests  are  so  unlike,  yet  I  always  think  fondly  of 
my  brother  and  proudly  of  his  success.  It  is  nice  for  him  and  Mary  B.  to 
love  each  other  and  to  be  together. 

June  25. — Doctor  P.  j list  now  called  me  into  the  music-room  and 
complimented  me  so  much  that  I  must  write  it  down,  for  this  book  is 
my  safety-valve.  Ahem  !  He  said  my  success  in  the  essay  before  the 
Alumnae  was  something  wonderful.  He  said  it  made  a  marked  impression, 
that  he  wanted  me  to  come  back,  would  make  it  pleasant  for  me,  and  that 
if  he  had  only  thought  of  it  in  time,  he  would  have  had  me  make  the  ad¬ 
dress  to  the  graduating  class  upon  the  occasion  of  receiving  their  diplomas, 
instead  of  Dr.  Herrick  Johnson,  pastor  of  one  of  the  first  Presbyterian 
churches  in  this  city  and  one  of  the  oldest,  and  furthermore  that  he  wanted 
me  to  write  an  account  of  the  Commencement  for  “Tom  Eddy’s  paper,” 
and  insisted  on  my  taking  a  five  dollar  bill  for  the  same.  So  now,  in  great 


Nineteen  Beautiful  Years. 


183 


haste  and  honest  joy,  I  have  written  this  and  will  proceed  to  prepare  the 
article.  Praise,  when  it  is  meant,  is  life  to  me,  "in  a  sense.”  I  am  afraid 
I  think  too  much  about  it.  Anyhow,  I  know  that  I  am  glad  of  all  this  and 
would  like  those  who  love  me  to  know  of  it. 

Evanston,  July  7. — Thank  God  for  my  safe  return. 

July  9. — Sabbath  morning  before  church.  Sitting  alone  in  my  little 
newly  furnished  room  that  father  and  mother  have  had  fitted  up  for  me,  the 
one  where  Mary  and  I  once  sat  together  wdien  I  was  merry-hearted.  Mother 
has  just  been  in  and  read  to  me  some  beautiful  thoughts  of  Hannah  More’s, 
on  prayer.  Mother  is  wonderfully  spiritual  since  Mary  is  among  the  spirits, 
and  her  thoughts  are  only  incidentally  of  earth,  habitually  in  heaven. 
Father  and  she  are  in  the  front  room  now.  He  is  reading  the  Northwestern 
Christian  Advocate ,  she  lying  on  the  lounge,  perhaps  thinking  of  Mary  in 
heaven.  Down-stairs  the  pleasant  housekeepers,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hanchett, 
otherwise  Alfred  and  Cynth,  with  active  little  Tillie,  the  small  maid  of  all 
work,  are  walking  about  or  reading  in  the  rooms  where  we  used  to  lounge 
on  Sabbath  morning ;  and  under  this  room  where  I  sit,  that  one  where  Mary 
died  is  darkened  and  left  solitary.  Oh,  life  is  strange  and  full  of  change  ! 
If  these  things  did  not  come  to  us  slowly,  they  would  craze  us,  I  am  sure  ; 
but  as  it  is,  we  adjust  ourselves  to  them  and  manage  to  get  on.  Though  the 
fresh  air  and  sunshine  are  taken  away,  we  live  in  darkness  and  from  long 
habit  breathe  on,  struggling  to  inhale  the  heavy,  unreviving  air. 

July  15. — I  am  writing  with  enthusiasm  the  book  about  Mary  and  think 
it  will  be  interesting.  Her  journals  are  delightful.  I  did  not  know  she  had 
such  talent  as  they  evince.  Evanston  is  different,  though  I  say  little  about 
it.  I  have  been  to  the  city  to  visit  dear,  true  Clara  Thatcher,  one  of  the  best 
friends  I  have  on  earth.  Life  is  rather  queer,  but  it  pays,  for  all  that.  I 
want  to  be  good  and  get  ready  for  something  better  in  the  way  of  animated 
existence.  I  do  not  expect  to  live  to  be  old.  If  I  were  sure  about  the 
Future,  I  would  like  to  go  there  right  away. 

July  24. — Not  because  I  have  the  least  thing  to  write,  but  just  from  habit, 
sitting  at  my  table,  I  take  the  pen  and  scratch  away.  If  it  were  not  for 
”  Mary’s  book,”  at  which  I  work  almost  constantly  of  late,  I  could  hardly 
get  on.  1  go  out  very  little,  which  is  foolish,  I  presume.  My  book  is  so 
well  commenced  now,  that  I  mean  to  write  only  forenoons  and  visit  more ; 
read,  study  German,  and  play  a  little.  I  am  really  happy  over  books,  they 
are  the  true  magicians.  They  take  me  back  across  the  chasm  of  years  and 
make  me  as  fresh-hearted  as  when  the  leaves  sent  their  shadows  dancing  to 
and  fro  on  the  pages  which  I  read  in  the  garden  or  on  the  piazza  at  home, 
with  the  tinkle  of  the  distant  cow-bell  in  my  ears,  and  the  fragrant  breath 
of  flowTers  cooling  my  cheek. 

Sitting  here  alone,  so  often,  I  think  about  my  future  life  out  there  in  the 
mystic  country,  and  glimpses  come  to  me  of  an  atmosphere  golden  as  sun¬ 
beams  and  inspiring  as  ether,  of  crystal  towers  and  snowy  cushions  of  cloud, 
of  streams  that  sing  songs  as  they  flow,  of  perfume  delicate  as  the  color  of 
rose-lined  shells,  of  infinite  repose  and  that  unspeakable  feeling  never  to 
be  won  on  fcarth  b}'  prayer  or  penance — that  we  are  satisfied.  Christ  has  in 


184 


“  A  Change  of  Works.1' 


Hi5  nature  the  elements  that  will  make  all  this  true  when  we  behold  Him 
face  to  face.  We  do  not  know  what  we  are  seeking  here  when  wre  strive  so 
hard  and  fret  so  much.  Human  love  no  doubt  comes  nearest,  but  it  is  only 
the  melody  of  an  anthem,  the  study  for  a  picture,  the  twilight  of  a  morning 
that  shall  dawn,  and  oh,  to  think  !  “the  fret  and  jar  gone  from  our  souls 
forever,”  how  wTe  shall  erelong  awake  to  life  and  be  restless  and  hungry  and 
thirsty  no  more ! 

This  may  be  as  good  a  place  as  any  in  which  to  state  that 
when  we  wrote  in  our  journals  or  elsewhere,  as  children,  mother 
was  wont  to  help  us  with  points,  and  sometimes  with  sen¬ 
tences.  In  extreme  cases,  father  would  do  the  same.  It  never 
occurred  to  me  that  this  was  at  all  out  of  the  way,  any  more  than 
to  have  them  help  me  with  my  mathematical  problems.  When  I 
went  away  to  school,  it  soon  became  known  to  my  fellow-students 
that  I  kept  a  somewhat  voluminous  journal,  and  was  very  fond 
of  writing.  Naturally  enough,  they  flocked  around  me  for  aid 
and  comfort  in  their  composition  work,  which  I  was  by  no  means 
slow  to  render,  for  I  think  no  school-mate  ever  asked  my  help 
without  receiving  it.  Indeed,  I  am  afraid  that  I  had  an  undevel¬ 
oped  conscience  on  this  subject,  for  one  of  my  most  lively  re¬ 
membrances  is  a  “change  of  works,”  by  which  my  clothes  were 
mended,  and  my  room  set  in  order,  while  I  plied  my  pencil  in  the 
interest  of  some  girl  whose  harp  was  on  the  willows  in  view 
of  the  fact  that  next  Friday  afternoon  she  must  bring  in  a 
composition. 

When  I  was  a  teacher,  while  disposed  to  be  helpful  to  all 
my  pupils,  I  did  not  write  their  essays,  though  given  to  ‘  ‘  inter¬ 
larding,”  as  my  father  used  to  call  the  help  furnished  us  children 
at  home.  In  a  single  instance  I  remember  writing  an  important 
paper  for  a  pretty  young  lady,  who  received  a  class  honor  on  the 
basis  of  her  good  looks  rather  than  upon  her  facility  with  her 
pen.  This  was  a  deadly  secret  between  us  two,  and  one  never 
before  divulged.  It  is  mentioned  now  only  by  way  of  warning, 
for  in  the  confession  of  sin  that  I  deem  it  right  to  make,  as  a  true . 
witness  in  this  autobiography,  I  am  obliged  to  include  not  only 
sins  of  omission  but  of  commission  in  the  particular  treated  of 
in  this  paragraph. 

In  the  autumn  of  1863,  I  returned  to  Pittsburgh  and  taught 
in  the  Female  College  two  thirds  of  that  school  year.  „ 


CHAPTER  VI 


THE  GROVE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  BUILDING  OF  HECK  HALL. 

(1865-1866.) 

Mr.  Edward  Haskin,  of  Evanston,  having  six  children  of  his 
own  and  plenty  of  money,  determined  to  found  a  select  school 
near  his  own  home  where  they  could  have  the  best  advantages. 
He  enlisted  several  leading  gentlemen  to  cooperate  with  him  as 
trustees.  Their  children  also  attended  the  school,  which  was  in 
two  departments,  primary  and  intermediate,  with  a  tendency 
toward  academic,  in  exceptional  cases.  My  talented  cousin,  Mrs. 
Minerva  Brace  Norton,  wras  the  first  teacher.  She  was  a  woman 
of  intellect  so  penetrating  and  experience  so  large,  that  to  follow 
her  was  not  a  holiday  undertaking,  but  it  fell  to  my  lot  to  make 
this  attempt  in  the  winter  of  1865.  Associated  with  me  were 
the  “two  Kates,”  as  we  were  wont  to  call  them,  Miss  Kate  Kid¬ 
der,  the  accomplished  daughter  of  our  Professor  in  Homiletics, 

and  Kate  Jackson,  for  so  many  years  my  friend  and  comrade. 

♦ 

The  building  where  we  exercised  our  gifts  is  still  standing  on 
Hinman  avenue,  near  the  corner  of  Davis  street,  and  I  never  pass 
it  without  seeing  those  two  rooms  full  of  the  best-born  and  best- 
mannered  children  in  Evanston,  kindly,  quick-witted  and  stu¬ 
dious.  If  there  were  any  naughty  children  I  do  not  recall  them. 
One  or  two  who  were  dull  formed  the  background  for  the  rest. 
Our  school  had  many  unique  features,  but  perhaps  none  more  so 
than  the  custom  of  the  pupils  to  write  questions  on  the  black¬ 
board  for  their  teachers  to  answer.  This  turn  about  was  but  fair 
play,  stimulated  the  minds  of  all  concerned,  and  added  to  the  good 
will  and  confidence  between  teacher  and  pupil.  As  we  had  all 
grades,  from  the  toddler  of  four  years  old  to  the  elegant  young 
lady  of  sixteen,  the  problem  of  government  was  not  so  simple  as 

(185) 


i86 


The  Bank  of  Character. 


it  might  appear.  After  trying  several  experiments,  I  introduced 
the  Bank  of  Character,  opening  an  account  with  each  student  in 
my  room,  and  putting  down  certain  balances  in  his  favor.  Then 
by  a  system  of  cards  of  different  values,  which  were  interchange¬ 
able  as  are  our  bank  notes  of  different  denominations,  that  is,  one 
of  a  higher  value  being  equivalent  to  several  of  a  lower  denomi¬ 
nation,  the  plan  was  carried  out.  Every  absence,  tardiness,  failure 
in  recitation,  case  of  whispering,  was  subtracted  from  the  bank 
account,  and  so  emulous  were  those  children  that  my  tallest  beys 
were  as  much  on  the  qni  vine  to  know  their  standing,  as  were  their 
youngest  brothers.  Aside  from  the  lessons,  into  which  we  intro¬ 
duced  as  much  as  possible  of  natural  history,  object-lessons, 
drawing  and  gymnastics,  we  gave  out  questions  at  each  session, 
keeping  an  account  of  the  answers  and  putting  at  a  premium 
those  who  brought  in  the  largest  number  of  correct  replies.  I 
remember  my  honored  friend,  Dr.  Raymond,  told  me  that  his  boy, 
Fred,  one  of  the  brightest  and  most  exceptional  pupils  I  ever  had, 
when  not  in  school  was  lying  on  the  sitting-room  floor  with  his 
face  in  a  book,  hunting  up  the  answers  to  some  of  this  continuous 
game  of  twenty  questions.  It  was  certainly  delightful  to  see  the 
enthusiasm  of  my  young  folks  in  that  Grove  school. 

We  had  our  exhibition  duly  at  the  end  of  each  term,  on 
which  occasion  the  University  chapel  would  be  packed  with  the 
appreciative  throng  of  fathers  and  mothers  to  hear  the  exercises, 
in  which  their  children  had  been  most  carefully  drilled,  and  to 
see  who  got  the  prizes,  for,  thanks  to  the  generosity  of  L.  L. 
Greenleaf,  at  that  time  »ne  of  our  wealthiest  citizens,  we  always 
had  several  attractive  rewards  of  merit,  usually  in  the  form  of 
books,  which  seem  to  me  the  most  unexceptionable  prize  that  can 
be  given.  As  I  grow  older,  however,  I  doubt  more  and  more  the 
propriety  of  offering  prizes.  Competition  is  so  fierce  in  this 
country  and  age,  and  the  “  set  ”  of  children’s  brains  is  so  strong 
toward  it  from  the  first,  that  I  have  become  an  ardent  believer  in 
cooperation  as  a  principle  destined  some  day  to  overthrow  the 
selfishness  of  competition,  and  with  my  present  views,  would 
hardly  re-enact  the  scenes  that  made  the  “  last  day  ”  so  exciting 
in  that  school. 

Oddly  enough,  the  prosperity  of  this  pleasant  enterprise 
gnawed  at  the  root  of  its  life.  The  trustees  were  urged  to  make 


Word  Studies. 


187 


common  cause  in  building  up  the  public  school  system  whose  suc¬ 
cess  was  greatly  hindered  by  this  more  select  institution,  ^nd  we 
all  saw  that  the  best  interests  of  the  town  required  such  action. 

The  spring  of  1866  / witnessed  our  closing  exercises,  and 
made  the  pleasant  school  in  the  grove  a  memory.  I  have  always 
thought  that  some  of  my  most  satisfactory  teaching  was  done 
here  and  have  cherished  a  warm  regard  for  the  bright  and  win¬ 
some  pupils  who  helped  me  to  succeed. 

One  of  my  hobbies  as  a  teacher  was  to  interest  the  children 
in  the  history,  poetry  and  morals  that  are  bound  up  in  single 
words.  Dean  Trench  was  among  my  favorite  authors,  read  early 
and  often,  and  I  collated  from  his  sparkling  pages  many  a  picture 
for  the  children,  drawn  out  from  a  single  word  written  by  me  on 
the  board  and  copied  by  them  as  they  sat  behind  their  desks. 
Every  geographical  word  was  thus  analyzed,  so  far  as  our  knowl¬ 
edge  permitted,  and  the  chief  words  in  reading  and  spelling 

% 

lessons.  All  except  the  dullest,  were  delighted  with  this  varia¬ 
tion  in  the  order  of  the  day.  In  teaching  composition,  I  tried  to 
make  the  lessons  vivid,  concrete  ;  giving  few  rules,  but  taking  a 
subject  with  which  the  children  were  familiar,  and  drawing  them 
out,  or,  if  their  little  minds  were  empty  concerning  some  character 
or  event,  pumping  in  ideas  by  a  familiar  talk,  and  then  asking 
them  to  write  out  what  had  been  said.  In  the  formative  period 
of  my  mental  habits,  writing  out  recollection  of  books,  characters, 
addresses,  etc.,  has  been  the  most  valuable  discipline  that  ever 
came  to  me.  * 

I  had  list  of  tabooed  subjects  in  my  composition  class,  among 
which  were  Home,  Hope,  The  Seasons,  Spring  especially,  Beauty, 
Youth,  Old  Age,  The  Weather  I  did  not  allow  them  to  use 
’twas,  ’tis,  ’neath,  th’,  e’en,  though  they  much  inclined  to  drop 
into  poetry  to  this  extent. 

I  find  a  list  of  words  for  studies  of  literal  meaning  in  my 
memorandum  book  for  composition  classes  : 

Poltroon,  .supercilious,  astonished,  sarcasm,  imbecile,  affront,  halcyon, 
fortnight,  scape-goat,  daguerreotype,  mythology,  disaster,  asunder,  apparent, 
sandwich,  volcano,  horse-radish,  didoes,  telegraph,  surname,  bayonet,  ver¬ 
min,  currents,  windfall,  caprice,  desultory,  silhouette,  miser,  trivial,  happi¬ 
ness,  heaven,  Holy  Ghost,  consciousness,  sincere,  Paternoster,  enthusiasm. 

I  found  that  children  ten  years  old  could  be  well-nigh  fas¬ 
cinated  by  the  study  of  words  like  these. 


i88 


Hcck  Hall . 


An  interlude  in  my  work  as  a  teacher  brought  me  my  first 
introduction  to  a  really  public  career.  I  was  made  corresponding 
secretar)^  of  the  American  Methodist  Ladies’  Centenary  Asso¬ 
ciation,  that  helped  to  build  Heck  Hall,  at  Evanston,  in  1866. 
This  was  an  addition  greatly  needed  by  the  Garrett  Biblical 
Institute,  our  theological  school,  and  our  appeal  was  made  to 
Methodist  women  throughout  the  country  for  contributions  to 
ministerial  education.  But  this  new  idea  of  organizing  women 
in  a  large  way  for  Christian  work  was  seized  upon  by  other  insti¬ 
tutions,  and  so  many  “  good  objects  ”  were  soon  before  the  public 
that  ours  did  not  attain  the  prominence  we  hoped.  About  $25,000 
was  raised,  however,  and  the  certificate  for  framing  sent  out  by 
us,  and  representing  Mrs.  Garrett  presenting  a  Gospel  commission 
to  a  very  nice,  spiritual-looking  young  man,  had  more  of  prophecy 
within  it  than  met  the  eye.  These  certificates  hung  up  in  many 
a  Methodist  family  of  the  nation,  and  bearing  the  honored  name 
of  Mrs.  Bishop  Hamline  as  president,  and  mine  as  corresponding 
secretary,  first  gave  me  a  public  larger  than  that  implied  in  any 
school  constituency.  I  have  often  thought  of  this  first  associated 
work  of  the  most  progressive  Church  women  in  America  —  foi 
Methodist  women  are  confessedly  that  —  and  wondered  if  the 
sense  of  power  they  then  acquired  did  not  pave  the  way  for  their 
great  missionary  movement  started  about  two  years  later,  and  of 
which  Mrs.  Jennie  Fowler  Willing  was  so  long  the  moving  spirit 
in  the  West. 

My  father  had  now  become  pecuniarily  embarrassed,  through 
no  fault  or  failure  of  his  own,  and  it  was  necessary  that  I  should 
earn  enough  to  float  myself  financially. 

I  was  very  grateful  to  the  kind  friends  who  secured  the  situ¬ 
ation  for  me,  and  I  found  in  Rev.  Dr.  James  S.  Smart,  whose 
keen  brain  thought  out  the  “  Ladies’  Centennial  ”  idea,  a  brothel 
indeed.  He  helped  me  in  every  possible  way,  and  so  did  m> 
dear  father,  for  I  was  not  good  at  accounts,  and  these  had  to  be 
carefully  kept.  Father  built  “Rest  Cottage.”  three  blocks  from 
our  first  home  in  Evanston,  on  some  new  lots  reclaimed  from  the 
swamp  and  embellished  by  him  with  as  much  enthusiasm  as  he 
had  felt  in  the  creation  of  Forest  Home.  My  parents  moved  into 
this  house,  December,  1865.  While  it  was  building,  my  home 


A  Change .  189 

was  with  the  families  of  Dr.  Raymond  and  Simeon  Farwcll, 
whose  kindness  in  those  days  of  difficulty  I  shall  not  forget. 

In  the  autumn  of  1866,  I  went  to  Lima,  N.  Y.,  Miss  Kate 
Kidder  taking  my  place  in  Evanston  as  corresponding  secretary. 


ri 


YVKA. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


GENESEE  WESLEYAN  SEMINARY. 

(1866-1867.) 

For  many  years  I  had  heard  of  this  oldest  seminary  of  the 
Methodist  church,  located  at  Eima,  Livingston  Co.,  N.  Y.,  not 
more  than  thirty  miles  from  my  birthplace.  Rev.  Dr.  B.  F.  Tefft, 
whose  story  of  “  The  Shoulder  Knot,”  published  in  The  Ladies’ 
Repository ,  had  fascinated  me  many  years  before,  was  in  early 
times  principal  of  this  famous  institution.  Associated  with  it  as 
teachers  or  students  were  such  names  as  U.  S.  Senator  Angus 
Cameron,  Henry  J.  Raymond,  founder  of  the  New  York  Times ; 
Orange  Judd,  the  greatest  among  agricultural  editors ;  Prof. 
William  Wells,  of  Union  College  ;  Prof.  Alverson,  and  many 
others  of  whom  I  had  heard  with  great  interest.  It  had  a  history, 
and  to  a  Westerner  this  was  a  fascinating  fact.  It  was  a  co-edu¬ 
cation  school  and  Oberlin  life  had  proved  to  our  folks  that  this 
was  the  natural,  hence  the  wise,  way. 

With  such  history  and  traditions  the  school  could  but  be 
attractive  to  me,  and  when,  one  fine  winter  day,  in  Evanston,  in 
1866,  a  letter  reached  me  from  Prof.  Charles  W.  Bennett,  who 
was  then  at  its  head,  inviting  me  to  become  “preceptress,”  I 
was  delighted,  and,  with  the  approval  of  my  parents,  wrote  him 
at  once  that  I  would  gladly  go  in  the  following  September.  I 
was  greatly  disappointed  to  learn  later  on  that  Professor  Bennett, 
about  whom  Dr.  Bannister’s  family  had  told  me  many  pleasant 
things,  had  gone  abroad,  and  that  a  new  principal,  Professor  Ful¬ 
ler,  unknown  to  fame,  and  certainly  unknown  to  me,  was  to  be 
my  chief  associate. 

It  was  a  beautiful  autumn  day  when  I  reached  this  historic 
village  nestling  among  the  hills  of  Genesee.  Its  pastoral  peace 

(190) 


First  Days  at  Lima. 


191 

was  welcome  to  my  spirit  as  dew  on  the  mown  grass.  An  enter¬ 
tainment  was  given  to  the  faculty  that  evening  at  the  home  of 
Rev.  Dr.  Lindsay,  president  of  Genesee  College,  which  was 
located  on  the  same  campus.  Here  I  met  the  leading  members  of 
both  faculties,  with  all  of  whom  I  was  remarkably  well  pleased. 
The  seminary  building,  large,  rambling,  old,  had  special  fascina¬ 
tion  for  one  who  came  from  a  country  where  everything  was 
new.  I  thought  of  the  historic  characters  to  whom  this  place  was 
familiar  and  by  whom  it  was  beloved.  My  own  pleasant  suite  of 
rooms  had  been  occupied  for  two  generations  by  women  of  the 
highest  character  and  exceptional  abilities.  My  friend,  Kate 
Jackson,  came  with  me,  for  I  had  secured  her  the  promise  of 
French  classes.  Her  object  in  going  was  to  be  with  me,  as  she 
had  no  occasion  to  make  money  for  her  own  use,  and  there  we 
spent  a  year  with  very  much  of  brightness  in  it,  and  somewhat 
of  shadow. 

I  can  not  more  correctly  depict  the  year  at  Lima,  than  by 
giving  in  conclusion  the  following  extracts  from  the  journal  of 
the  period  : 

Lima,  Livingston  Co.,  N.  Y.,  September  15,  1866. — Father  went  with 
me  to  Lima.  From  Avon  I  had  my  first  stage  ride,  seven  miles  across,  the 
driver  blowing  his  horn  as  we  entered  a  town,  in  the  good  old-fashioned 
style.  Stopped  at  the  pleasant  home  of  Rev.  A.  D.  Wilber,  agent  and  treas¬ 
urer  of  the  Seminary.  We  were  warmly  welcomed,  had  a  nice  dinner,  and 
walked  over  to  the  Seminary  with  bright  E.,  a  sophomore  in  the  gentle¬ 
men’s  college  (Genesee),  were  introduced  to  Mrs.  Hale,  wife  of  the  steward, 
conducted  to  our  rooms,  sitting-room,  bedroom,  and  closet,  up  one  flight  of 
stairs  on  the  front  side  of  the  building ;  nicely  furnished,  Brussels  carpet, 
pretty  bedroom  set,  a  fire  ready  in  the  stove,  house  plants  in  the  windows; 
they  had  evidently  done  all  they  could  to  make  it  pleasant  for  us.  We 
went  to  work  and  put  up  the  pictures,  etc.'  and  in  a  couple  of  hours,  I  was 
nicely  established  in  my  new  home.  Then  Professor  Lattimore  and  daugh¬ 
ter,  Professor  Steele  and  wife,  and  several  others,  called. 

September  18. — After  father  had  helped  me  put  up  the  pictures  and 
got  me  nicely  settled,  he  went  away  yesterday  just  after  breakfast ;  he  stood 
on  the  steps  before  the  great  front  door,  held  out  his  hand  with  his  face 
turned  half  away,  and  said,  “  Well,  good-by  ;  take  care  of  yourself,  and  don’t 
get  sick.”  I  shall  not  comment  upon  my  many  thoughts  and  emotions  as 
he  walked  off  with  carpet-bag  in  hand,  looking  so  gentlemanly,  so  tall  and 
slight  and  fragile — too  much  so  for  my  peace. 

Am  getting  acquainted  with  all  these  excellent  people  ;  the  bugbear, 
Lima,  is  nothing  so  dreadful  after  all.  Have  had  my  first  duty  as  precep¬ 
tress  to  welcome  a  lot  of  new-comers.  Two  are  Indians  from  the  Seneca 


192 


Girls  and  Questions. 


reservation  ;  another  is  a  peculiarly  thoughtful,  religious,  book-loving  girl 
of  seventeen.  I  brought  her  into  my  room  and  she  looked  with  much  in¬ 
terest  at  my  pictures,  and  we  fell  into  talk.  I  happened  to  mention  that  I 
had  a  sister  who  graduated  young,  and  that  I  was  nineteen  when  I  left  school. 
Soon  after,  I  handed  her  the  new  circular  where  my  full  name  is  printed. 
She  glanced  over  it,  looked  up  with  flushed  face,  and  said,  “May  I  ask  a 
question?  Did  you  write  ‘Nineteen  Beautiful  Years’?”  I  answered, 
“  Yes,  of  course,”  and  showed  her  Mary’s  photograph  while  tears  fell  from 
her  eyes.  New  students  are  coming  all  the  while,  new  teachers,  and  I  am 
not  a  bit  blue.  We  had  a  long,  tedious  faculty  meeting  in  the  ladies’  parlor. 
They  gave  me  rhetoric  and  composition,  and  I  am  perfectly  delighted. 

September  20. — To-day  began  my  onerous  task.  At  nine  a.m.,  prayers 
in  the  chapel,  conducted  by  the  principal.  Afterward  I  went  to  my  recita¬ 
tion  room  and  spent  the  forenoon  registering  }roung  ladies  who  brought 
slips  of  admission  from  the  treasurer.  I  then  took  the  names  and  addresses 
of  guardians,  studies  for  the  term,  and  number  of  rooms  in  the  Seminary,  or, 
if  an  out  boarder,  the  place  of  residence.  They  are  most  of  them  interesting, 
attractive  girls.  Then  came  to  my  room  and  had  a  call  from  one  of  my 
Seneca  Indians  and  also  from  polite  Miss  Waite,  the  assistant  preceptress  ; 
Mrs.  Hale,  the  stewardess,  gave  me  a  cup  of  tea  in  her  room  and  consoled 
me,  the  dear,  motherly  woman.  Have  had  several  homesick  girls  to  look 
after.  Poor  things,  I  like  them,  and  pray  that  I  may  do  them  good,  in  all 
true  and  pleasant  senses.  Have  been  registering  all  day,  have  received  nu¬ 
merous  calls  on  business  from  my  strange-faced  and  pleasant-mannered  young 
ladies,  a  few  anxious  fathers,  and  some  of  the  professors.  Gave  them  this 
afternoon  a  chapel  talk  and  took  the  postoffice  addresses  of  them  all.  Think 
I  shall  greatly  like  Dima  when  I  get  seasoned. 

September  24. — Mrs.  H.  is  a  woman  of  mother  wit  ;  witness  her  in¬ 
veighing  against  people  who  parade  their  bookishness  ;  she  brought  me  a 
private  cup  of  tea  and  a  cooky,  kissed  my  cheek  and  said,  “You  dear  little 
kitten,  you,  if  anybody  hurts  you,  I’ll  bite  ’em,  that’s  all.” 

October  6. — Girls,  girls,  girls!  Questions  upon  questions!  Dear  me, 
it  is  no  small  undertaking  to  be  elder  sister  to  the  whole  one  hundred  and 
eighty  of  them,  but  it  is  pleasant,  truly  so.  Tried  to  write  on  a  talk  to  them 
but  can  get  no  time  nor  much  inspiration.  This  term,  I  will  extemporize,  I 
guess.  Went  up  to  the  room  of  the  “Ladies’  Literary,”  was  introduced, 
the  whole  society  rising.  They  treat  me  beautifully,  and  I  think  I  recipro¬ 
cate.  Never  saw  such  a  thing  as  Lima  sociability. 

October  13. — We  have  changed  works;  I  hear  Kate’s  physiology  class 
and  she  “  does  up  ”  our  room. 

October  15. — Llave  had  a  letter  from  Nina  Lunt,  dated  Geneva,  Swit¬ 
zerland.  What  would  I  not  give  to  have  her  opportunity  in  life,  for  my  pet 
desire  is  to  travel.  If  I  had  been  a  man  I  would  have  liked  Bayard  Taylor’s 
portion  under  the  sun. 

October  24. — Prepared  talks  to  my  girls  about  room-keeping.  This  is 
my  hobby.  I  believe,  whatever  I  can  not  do,  I  can  make  a  home  attractive. 
My  own  room  I  delight  to  have  a  pleasant  place  to  dwell  in.  For  this  I  care 


Longs  to  Travel. 


193 


more  than  to  dress.  Heard  my  rhetoric  scholars,  of  whom  I  have  thirty- 
four. 

October  29. — I  went  down  to  a  political  mass  meeting  addressed  by 
Horace  Greeley.  Here  was  American  politics  as  manifested  in  a  crowd  of 
yeomanry  with  bands  and  such  mottoes  as  “  Down  wTith  the  One  Man 
Power!”  ‘‘Congress  Must  and  Shall  Be  Sustained!”  ‘‘Andy  Johnson 
Swinging  Around  the  Circle  !”  This  motley  throng  surged  to  and  fro,  nearly 
taking  us  off  our  feet.  It  was  somewiiat  to  study,  to  be  sure,  but  we  did  n’t 
stay  long,  the  place  was  so  breathless  and  full  in  spite  of  the  rain.  I  like 
Horace’s  quiet,  unwritten  face.  Rife  has  n’t  hurt  him  much — the  noble  old 
philosopher.  I  liked  to  watch  him  standing  there  in  his  nice  black  suit, 
with  velvet  vest,  wide  collar  and  queer  ruffle  of  wiiiskers  gray  ;  with  his 
bald  head,  ring  on  third  left  hand  finger  and  red  bandana  in  his  hand.  He 
is  a  historic  figure  and  embodies  well  the  idea  of  our  government — freedom 
in  all  right  things,  to  all.  Give  everybody  a  fair  chance  and  let  the  out¬ 
come  come  !  Honor  to  H.  G.,  the  self-made  chief  editor  in  the  United 
States  for  the  last  score  of  years. 


November  2. — Kate  and  I  have  great  fellowship  with  Mrs.  Fuller,  the 
principal’s  wife,  she  is  so  straightforward,  and  common-sensical,  that  one 
likes  her  of  right. 

November  5. — In  the  evening,  went  to  the  twenty-twTo  rooms  of  my  girls. 
I  like  them  all.  I  really  think  I  shall  do  these  girls  good  in  composition 
lines.  The  seniors  improve  and  I  give  them  unsparing  criticism.  Regents’ 
examination  is  going  forward,  to  the  great  disgust  of  the  students.  Kate  and 
I  wTent  into  the  chapel  to  see  the  poor  victims  undergoing  their  ordeal.  It  is 
the  perfection  of  a  system. 

Sabbath,  November  11. — Stayed  at  home  all  day  and  read  “EcceHomo.” 
It  has  mind  in  it,  it  has  body,  it  is  something.  I  have  enjoyed  it  and  con¬ 
cluded  it  certain,  from  internal  evidence,  that  the  author  believes  in  Christ’s 
divinity.  If  our  faith  could  but  be  separated  from  cant  and  hackneyism  it 
would  touch  the  world  more' nearly. 


November  16. — Professor  Fuller  laid  down  the  law  to  the  lawless 
young  men  in  a  way  that  did  my  heart  good.  In  the  boarding-hall  there  is 
ever  so  much  that  goes  amiss,  and  some  people  that  precisely  answer  to  the 
“Country  Parson’s”  description  of  a  “cantankerous  fool.” 

November  26. — Girls  are  ten  times  as  quick  as  boys.  In  Rhetoric  the 
last  do  wretchedly.  I  should  think  they  would  take  hold  and  study  for 
very  shame. 

The  term  grows  dreary  and  monotonous.  I  am  an  inveterate  lover  of 
variety  and  should  have  made  a  traveler  if  I  had  been  a  man — as  I  some¬ 
times  w7ish  I  had  been.  My  life  is  a  free  and  happy  one — surfacely  so. 
How  strangely  accommodating  are  our  natures  !  With  nothing  just  as  I 
wish  it ;  with  chasms  and  voids  in  my  life  too  numerous  to  name,  I  yet 
have  a  good  time  and  no  complaint  to  make  ! 

November  28. — Went  down  tow  n  in  the  rain  to  see  about  my  new  dress, 

bonnet,  etc.  These  evils  of  a  lady’s  life  are  very  irksome  to  me,  yet  quite 
1 3 


194 


Cross-currents  Diverted. 


inevitable.  For  to  express  in  toilet,  manners,  and  the  room  (some  day  I 
hope  the  house)  I  live  in,  that  I  am  civilized  of  soul,  I  expect  and  intend. 

November  29. — The  first  national  Thanksgiving  Day  appointed  by  the 
Chief  Executive  is  here.  Thirty-six  millions  of  people  at  once  offering 
their  thanks  to  the  Source  of  life  and  of  all  that  comes  through  living  ! 
Alas  that  “my  policy  ’’  Johnson  instead  of  our  beloved  Lincoln,  the  eman¬ 
cipator,  should  have  written  the  proclamation  setting  this  day  apart  to  its 
delightful  uses  !  Rain  falling,  window’s  open,  no  fire,  dandelions  golden  in 
the  grass.  Spent  the  day  reading  Carlyle  on  the  religious  life  of  Dr. 
Johnson.  Life  is  “  sort  o’  rich,”  but  might  readily  be  more  so. 

One  of  the  cross-currents  came  to  the  surface  when  I  declined 
to  hold  myself  responsible  for  the  locking  and  unlocking  of  the 
outside  door,  a  little  distance  from  my  room,  at  ten  o’clock  at 
night  and  half-past  five  in  the  morning.  They  said,  “  The  pre¬ 
ceptresses  have  always  done  this.”  I  replied,  “  More’s  the  pity, 
it  is  the  janitor’s  business.”  Good  Professor  Fuller  stood  by  me 
and  we  carried  the  day,  though  it  made  no  small  jangle  in  the 
faculty  for  a  brief  period.  But  we  were  in  the  main  harmonious, 
and  I  heartily  liked  all  my  associates. 

It  soon  occurred  to  me  that  we  might  improve  the  name  of 
“The  Young  Ladies’  Literary,”  which  was  the  immemorial  des¬ 
ignation  of  one  of  the  societies.  This  caused  no  small  amount  of 
contention  and  criticism,  but  finally  we  christened  it  “  The  Inge- 
low,”  and  when  I  went  to  New  York,  at  Christmas,  I  expended 
$ 100  that  the  young  women  had  accumulated  for  the  purpose,  in 
plaster  of  Paris  busts  of  the  great  lights  of  literature,  one  or  two 
handsome  chromos,  and  I  know  not  what  besides,  to  brighten  up 
their  large,  old-fashioned  assembly  room,  with  its  low  ceiling  and 
solemnities  of  president’s  chair  and  critic’s  desk. 

At  Lima  for  the  first  time  I  gave  a  church-roll  talk  each 
week,  having  the  young  ladies  all  to  myself  in  the  huge,  old 
chapel,  and  after  calling  the  church-roll  to  know  if  they  had  been 
in  attendance  punctually  upon  the  Sabbath  day,  I  talked  to  them 
in  a  familiar,  sisterly  fashion  about  all  sorts  of  things  interesting 
to  them  and  to  me.  It  was  an  hour  of  genuine  pleasure  011  my 
part,  and  they  professed  to  like  it,  too. 

Squire  Hale  and  his  wife  were  characters,  indeed,  known  and 
read  of  all  men  and  women  who  were  at  Lima  during  the  forty 
years  of  their  stewardship.  To  them  I  was  indebted  for  many 
kindnesses  ;  their  accomplished  daughter  Dora  and  her  genial 


A  Chapter  in  Methodist  History. 


195 


husband,  Rev.  C.  C.  Wilbor,  were  my  next-door  neighbors  on 
the  same  hall.  Dr.  Lindsay  was  greatly  looked  up  to  by  us,  and 
always  seemed  to  me  one  of  the  noblest  of  men.  Dr.  Daniel 
Steele  was  a  special  friend  of  ours,  a  man  of  independent  mind 
and  sterling  character.  He  had  not  then  come  to  the  vision  of 
‘  ‘  Love  enthroned.  ’  ’  Professor  Coddington,  the  eloquent  preacher 
of  Syracuse  University,  gave  high  promise  in  those  early  years  ; 
Professor  French,  honest  and  skilled  ;  Professor  Lattimore,  the 
son-in-law  of  the  lamented  Professor  Larrabee  of  Dickinson  Col¬ 
lege,  was  the  exquisite  man  of  the  faculty  ;  the  afterglow  of  Pro¬ 
fessor  Alverson’s  great  name  still  lingered  on  the  hills ;  Dr. 
Cummings  was  spoken  of  reverently,  Dr.  Reid  pleasantly,  and  an 
important  chapter  in  the  history  of  Methodism  was  here  studied 
by  me  at  first  hand. 

In  our  own  seminary  faculty  we  had  in  Professor  Fuller  a 
man  of  excellent  ability,  who  had  succeeded  in  the  pastorate,  but 
was  hardly  at  his  best  in  this  new  calling,  a  fact  for  which,  be¬ 
cause  I  thought  so  highly  of  him,  I  was  often  sorry.  His  wife 
was  a  true  friend,  whom  I  have  not  seen  since,  but  whom  I  have 
remembered  always  with  unchanged  affection.  Miss  Bannister, 
now  Mrs.  Ayers,  of  Penn  Yan,  the  teacher  of  Fine  Arts,  had  a 
nature  delicate  as  a  porcelain  vase,  and  a  spirit  tremulous  with 
aspirations  toward  God.  With  her  I  took  sweet  counsel,  and 
oftentimes  we  walked  to  the  house  of  the  Lord  in  company. 
Professor  Hudson,  the  Latin  teacher,  was  phenomenal  in  memory, 
and  has  since  become  one  of  the  leading  stenographers  at  Chau¬ 
tauqua.  I  remember  he  took  my  White  Cross  address  with 
marvelous  celerity  and  accuracy  when  I  spoke  there  in  1886. 
Professor  Locke  was  chief  of  the  Conservatory,  a  young  man  of 
harmonious  character,  great  activity,  and  zeal  that  his  pupils 
should  improve,  and  that  all  the  students  should  be  religious. 
For  many  years  now  he  has  held  the  same  position  in  the  North¬ 
western  University,  at  Evanston,  loved  and  trusted  by  all  who 
know  him.  Prof.  Delevan  C.  Seoville  was  probably  the  most 
unique  man  of  either  faculty  ;  born  among  the  hills  of  Oneida, 
devoted  to  the  Adirondacks  and  to  books,  worshipful  toward  his 
mother  and  sister — two  rare  women,  worthy  of  his  devotion, — 
working  his  way  to  high  culture,  and  phenomenally  successful  as 
a  teacher,  with  a  certain  magnetism  in  look,  voice  and  manner 


196 


Pleascmt  Prospects. 


that  made  him  a  universal  favorite  among  the  students,  he  should, 
to  my  mind,  have  been  a  minister,  and  I  think  he  had  this  pur¬ 
pose,  but  in  some  way  was  deflected  from  it,  went  to  New  York 
City,  and  has  become  a  first-class  lawyer  there. 

I  remember  that  Professor  Scoville,  who  was  very  liberal- 
minded  on  the  woman  question,  urged  me  to  consent  to  speak 
before  the  United  Societies  at  Commencement  in  the  College 
chapel,  saying  that  if  I  would  only  agree  to  do  this,  it  was  the 
easiest  thing  in  the  world  for  him  to  secure  the  invitation.  But 
I  stoutly  declined,  saying  that  while  I  would  rejoice  to  speak 
were  I  a  man,  such  a  beatitude  was  not  for  women,  and  I  would 
not  face  the  grim  visage  of  public  prejudice.  This  was  at  the 
Commencement  exercises  of  1867.  Something  less  than  four  years 
later,  I  was  glad  to  accept  Mr.  A.  K.  Bishop’s  generous  cham¬ 
pionship,  and  under  his  auspices  to  speak  an  hour  and  a  quarter 
in  Centenary  Church,  Chicago,  without  manuscript.  So  goes  the 
world.  It  is  always  broader  and  better  farther  on. 

I  left  Uima  at  the  close  of  the  school  year  of  1867,  with  the 
pleasantest  of  memories  and  prospects,  as  shown  by  the  following 
correspondence  : 

July  8,  1867. 

To  the  Board  of  Trustees  of  Genesee  Wesleyan  Seminary  : 

Gentlemen— Opportunity  to  visit  Europe  under  circumstances  most 
advantageous  having  presented  itself  since  I  entered  upon  my  duties  here,  I 
have  decided  to  avail  myself  of  it,  and  therefore  tender  my  resignation  of  the 
position  of  Preceptress.  Wishing  continued  prosperity  to  the  institution  in 
which  I  have  spen^a  year  so  pleasantly,  I  am, 

Yours  very  respectfully, 

Frances  E.  Wieeard. 

This  was  their  courteous  and  brotherly  reply  : 

Genesee  Weseeyan  Seminary, 
Lima,  N.  Y.,  July  9,  1867. 

Miss  Frances  E.  Wieeard,  Madam — I  am  directed  by  the  Board  of 
Trustees  of  Genesee  Wesleyan  Seminary  to  transmit  to  you  the  following 
resolution,  unanimously  passed  by  the  Board  as  an  expression  of  their  regard 
for  you  personally,  and  approval  of  your  conduct  as  the  Preceptress  of  the 
Seminary. 

Trusting  that  the  good  Ford  will  preserve  you  during  your  travels,  I  am, 

Yours  truly, 

D.  A.  Ogden,  Secretary. 

Resolved ,  That  in  accepting  the  resignation  of  Miss  Frances  E.  Willard 
as  Preceptress  in  Genesee  Wesleyan  Seminary,  we  feel  great  pleasure  in 


Kindly  Words  and  Deeds. 


T9  7 


expressing  our  high  appreciation  and  grateful  acknowledgments  for  her 
valuable  services  during  her  connection  with  this  institution. 

Hoping  for  a  pleasant  tour  and  safe  return  from  her  journeyings  abroad, 
we  will  pray  for  her  safety,  her  continued  success,  prosperity  and  happiness 
in  any  sphere  of  labor  and  usefulness  she  may  be  called  to  fill  in  the  future. 

[Unanimously  adopted.]  D.  A  0gden,  Secretary. 

My  generous  Senior  girls  gave  me  a  beautiful  ring  like  their 
-“own,  with  my  favorite  motto  from  Goethe,  which  they  had 
adopted,  Ohne  hast ,  ohne  rast ;  the  under-graduates  gave  me 
nearly  one  hundred  dollars  with  which  to  buy  a  dressing-case. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


PRESIDENT  OF  EVANSTON  COLLEGE  FOR  LADIES. 

The  circumstances  that  led  to  my  being  elected  president 
of  a  new  college,  and  the  first  woman  to  whom  that  honorable 
title  was  accorded,  though  so  many  others  have  deserved  it  better, 
are  thus  narrated  by  my  mother  to  the  stenographer  : 

In  1868  Frank  went  to  Europe.  Her  good  friend,  Kate  Jackson,  paid 
all  the  expenses  of  their  trip,  which  cost  about  $12,000  in  gold,  at  the  time 
when  gold  was  at  a  premium.  We  rented  Rest  Cottage  to  Rev.  Mr.  Salford 
and  family,  friends  of  ours  from  Oberlin,  and  I  boarded  with  them  for  a  year. 
The  next  year  my  son  and  his  family  moved  into  our  house,  and  I  boarded 
with  them  a  year.  Then  we  closed  the  house,  and  I  went  to  Churchville  to 
visit  our  relatives  and  await  my  daughter’s  coming.  Frank  and  Kate 
returned  in  September  of  1870,  and  we  three  reopened  Rest  Cottage,  where 
I  have  lived  ever  since. 

That  winter  we  did  u.11  of  our  own  work,  not  because  we  could  not  have 
a  girl,  for  Kate  had  110  lack  of  money,  but  after  such  a  tremendous  outing 
as  those  two  had  been  through,  they  seemed  to  enjoy  hugely  the  idea  of 
hiding  away  out  of  sight  and  hearing,  and  keeping  house  for  themselves. 
Frank  occupied  herself  chiefly  with  the  outdoor  part,  chopping  kindling, 
bringing  in  wood  and  coal,  and  doing  the  rougher  work,  while  Kate  and  I 
attended  to  the  culinary  and  ornamental  departments.  One  day  when 
Frank  was  busy  nailing  down  the  stair-carpet,  Mrs.  Dr.  Kidder,  whose 
husband  was  then  leading  professor  in  the  Theological  Seminary,  came 
from  her  home  across  the  street,  and  taking  a  seat  on  the  stairs,  said, 
“Frank,  I  am  amazed  at  you.  Let  someone  else  tack  down  carpets,  and 
do  you  take  charge  of  the  new  college.”  “  Very  well,”  answered  Frank; 
“  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  so.  I  was  only  waiting  to  be  asked.” 

Comparing  the  opportunities  for  womanhood  then  and  now, 
the  old  Persian  proverb  comes  instinctively  to  mind,  “  More 
kingdoms  wait  thy  diadem  than  are  known  to  thee  by  name.” 
Coincident  with  the  advance  of  woman  into  an  unknown  realm, 
began  another  epoch  in  my  life,  as  I  was  made  President  of  the 
Evanston  College  for  Ladies. 


(198) 


Something  New. 


199 


On  St.  Valentine’s  day,  1871,  I  was  elected  to  this  position, 
and  at  once  entered  on  my  duties. 

Our  college  was,  indeed,  something  new  under  the  sun.  Its 
beginning  was  on  this  wise  :  Mrs.  Mary  F.  Haskin,  wife  of  the 
kind  friend  who  gave  me  my  first  financial  send-off,  was  a  woman 
of  decidedly  progressive  thought.  She  believed  that  women 
should  be  a  felt  force  in  the  higher  education,  not  only  as  stu¬ 
dents,  but  as  professors  and  trustees.  She  believed  that  to  have 
men  only  in  these  positions,  was  to  shut  up  one  of  humanity’s 
eyes,  and  that  in  the  effort  to  see  all  around  the  mighty  sub¬ 
ject  of  education  with  the  other,  a  squint  had  been  contracted 
that  wTas  doing  irreparable  damage  to  the  physiognomy  of  the 
body  politic.  Therefore,  Mrs.  Haskin  ordered  her  handsome  car¬ 
riage  and  notable  white  horses  one  fine  day,  and  calling  on  half 
a  score  of  the  most  thoughtful  women  in  Evanston,  proposed  to 
them  to  found  a  woman’s  college,  in  which  women  should  con¬ 
stitute  the  board  of  trustees,  a  woman  should  be  president  and  con¬ 
fer  diplomas,  and  women  should  be,  for  the  first  time,  recognized 
and  proved  as  the  peers  of  men  in  administrative  power.  She 
pointed  out  that  even  at  Vassar  College  the  president  and  all  the 
trustees  wTere  masculine,  while  at  Mt.  Holyoke,  where  one  would 
think  the  spirit  of  Mary  Eyon  would  have  left  more  liberal  tra¬ 
ditions,  men  only  were  trustees,  and  a  man  always  conferred  the 
diplomas  that  young  women’s  study  and  older  women’s  teaching 
had  combined  to  earn.  Evanston  is  the  paradise  of  women,  and 
Mrs.  Haskin  found  abundant  preparation  of  heart  and  answer  of 
tongue  among  the  earnest  Christian  matrons  to  whom  she  ad¬ 
dressed  herself.  A  meeting  of  ladies  was  appointed  in  her  own 
home,  at  which  measures  were  instituted  to  secure  a  charter  and 
empower  Mrs.  Bishop  Hamline  with  fourteen  other  ladies,  and 
their  successors,  as  trustees. 

Our  genial  townsman,  Hon.  Edward  S.  Taylor,  was  in  the 
Legislature  that  winter  [1869-70],  and  through  his  influence  the 
Charter  was  secured.  Meanwhile,  my  own  beloved  Almq  Mater, 
the  “Northwestern  Female  College,”  was  in  full  career,  for 
although  its  founder,  Prof.  Wm.  P.  Jones,  had  been  consul  in 
China  for  several  years,  he  had  placed  the  institution  in  1862-63 
under  care  of  Mrs.  Lizzie  Mace  McFarland,  and,  later,  that 
admirable  College  president,  Rev.  Dr.  Lucius  H.  Bugbee,  had 


200 


Bishop  E.  0.  Haven. 


been  at  its  bead.  Professor  Jones  himself  had  now  returned 
and  for  a  year  resumed  the  leadership.  But  by  wise  diplomacy 
Mrs.  Haskin,  president  of  the  new  board  of  trustees,  and  those 
associated  with  her,  secured  the  transfer  of  the  Charter  of  the  old 
college  into  their  own  hands,  with  a  choice  list  of  alumnae,  the 
formalities  of  the  change  taking  place  in  the  old  Evanston  church 
at  the  final  “Commencement”  of  the  old  College  in  1871. 
Meanwhile,  in  1869,  Rev.  Dr.  (afterward  Bishop)  E.  O.  Haven 
had  resigned  the  presidency  of  Michigan  University  to  accept  that 
of  the  Northwestern  University  at  Evanston,  none  of  whose 
advantages  had  been  open  to  women  until  this  man,  who  stood 
second  to  no  college  president  in  the  nation,  made  it  a  condition 
of  his  coming  to  us,  that  every  door  should  be  flung  wide  to  the 
gentler  half  of  humanity.  How  many  times  have  I  thought,  with 
regrets  unutterable,  of  what  it  would  have  meant  to  my  own  edu¬ 
cation  had  all  those  doors  been  open  in  1858  !  But  this  was  not 
at  all  in  the  plans  of  the  good  men  who  founded  and  controlled 
the  University,  and  had  not  Dr.  Haven  been  born  with  the  diplo¬ 
matic  skill  of  a  Talleyrand  he  never  could  have  fitted  the  conflict¬ 
ing  elements  of  the  three  educational  interests — old  College,  new 
College,  and  University — into  one,  of  which  the  University  was 
from  the  first,  not  only  helm,  but  wheel  and  rudder.  It  was  he 
who  held  high  counsel  with  Professor  Jones  when  the  latter, 
strenuous — and  justly  so — for  the  dignity  and  historic  perpetu¬ 
ation  of  an  enterprise  into  which  he  had  poured  heroic  years  of 
toil,  was  loth  to  see  his  pet  College  merged  in  ours.  It  was  Dr. 
Haven  who  arranged  for  the  Evanston  College  for  Ladies  to  be  so 
correlated  with  the  University,  that,  under  his  presidency,  the 

two  moved  on  in  perfect  unison  ;  and  had  he  remained  until 
* 

the  new  order  of  things  became  fully  established  it  is  my  confi¬ 
dent  belief  that  ours  would  have  been  to-day  the  greatest, 
because  the  most  thoroughly  American  University  extant. 

I  see  him  now,  medium-sized,  alert-moving,  most  modest 
and  unostentatious  of  men,  with  his  fine  brow,  mild,  but  keen¬ 
flashing  eyes,  dominant  nose  of  Roman  mould,  and  his  “  smile  as 
sweet  as  summer.”  His  voice  was  musical,  his  manner  winsome, 
but  behind  all,  his  purpose  was  unconquerable  as  Caesar’s.  Un¬ 
like  almost  every  other  person  I  have  known,  he  had  the  piercing 
mental  gaze  that  could  divide  the  accidental  from  the  necessary 


“In  Non-essentials ,  Liberty .” 


201 


in  this  purpose  ;  the  latter  he  followed  with  the  rapidity  and 
lightness  of  a  greyhound.  Most  men  carry  luggage  in  following 
their  purpose  ;  he  laid  aside  every  weight ;  they  load  with  small 
shot  and  their  fire  is  scattering  ;  his  was  always  Sharpe’s  rifle — 
one  ball,  and  hit  the  game  ;  they  tithe  mint  and  cummin,  he 
tithed  nothing,  but  made  all  gleaners  welcome  to  his  harvest- 
field.  More  than  once  I  heard  him  .say,  ‘  ‘  I  think  a  man  who  has 
the  ability  and  who  manifests  the  spirit  of  Professor  Jones,  should 
have  a  good  position  in  our  University.  He  gives  up  the  hope  of 
a  lifetime  in  order  that  the  educational  interests  of  Evanston  may 
become  unified,  and  this  action  should  be  recognized  not  in  words 
only  but  in  deeds.  ”* 

He  w7anted  only  wThat  came  to  him  naturally  as  the  result  of 
his  own  reaction  on  the  forces  about  him,  and  rejoiced  to  see  the 
dignity  and  prerogatives  of  others  fully  acknowledged,  not  fearing 
for  his  own..  How  much  of  life’s  present  friction  will  be  avoided 
when  the  average  mind  discovers  that  the  central  aim  of  any  life 
is  best  conserved  by  choosing  for  one’s  motto  “In  non-esse?itials . 
liberty  ’  ’  /  But  the  trouble  is,  only  a  great  mind  can  so  take  in  the 
scope  of  life  to  perceive  that  most  things  are  relatively,  and  all 
things  are  absolutely,  non-essential  except  “  truth  in  the  inward 
parts  ”/  and  that  to  apply  that  truth  more  perfectly  to  heart  and 
home,  to  state  and  world  affairs,  is  more  than  all  burnt-offerings 
and  sacrifices.  Dr.  Haven  saw  the  truth  of  family  government — 
the  fatherly  plus  the  motherly  eye  applied  to  the  problem  of  edu¬ 
cating  young  people  ;  and  he  followed  it  more  grandly  than  any 
other  educator  of  his  time. 

With  such  a  master  spirit  among  us,  so  intuitive  in  thought, 
magnanimous  in  heart,  and  harmonious  in  action,  we  launched 
the  fearless  ship  that  flew  the  pennon  ‘  ‘  Evanston  College  for 
Ladies.” 

But  we  suffered  from  plethora  of  plans  coupled  with  such  a 
dearth  of  dimes  that  something  had  to  be  done,  and  that  right 
speedily. 

Now  came  to  the  front,  with  her  unmatched  gift  of  impart¬ 
ing  enthusiasm,  Mrs.  A.  H.  Hoge,  the  new  president  of  our 
“Women’s  Educational  Association,”  and  the  distinguished 

♦Both  these  true  men  have  passed  onward  now  :  Bishop  Haven  in  1881  ;  Professor 
Jones  in  1886. 


202 


The  Women' s  Fourth  of  July. 


yoke-fellow  of  Mrs.  Mary  A.  Livermore  in  the  days  when  a  sani¬ 
tary  fair  meant  victory.  I  shall  never  forget  the  morning  when 
this  woman,  one  of  the  few  truly  great  whom  I  have  ever  known, 
stood  up  in  a  meeting  of  ladies  in  the  Evanston  Presbyterian 
Church,  of  which  she  was  a  leader,  and  told  us  to  preempt  at 
once  the  coming  fourth  of  July,  the  University  campus  and  the 
Chicago  press,  in  the  interest  of  “our  girls.”  Forthwith,  we 
said  we  would,  and  verily  we  kept  our  vow.  But  Mrs.  Hoge 
had  never  recovered  from  the  rigors  of  her  army  work,  and  she 
had  many  cares  besides,  hence  could  only  give  us  the  splendid 
impetus  of  her  magnetic  words  and  presence.  It  remained  for 
the  new  “  college  president,”  minus  a  college,  to  show  what  she 
could  do,  and  to  carry  out  the  plan.  Two  years  of  foreign  study 
and  travel  were  hardly  the  best  preparation  for  a  w^ork  so  practi¬ 
cal,  but  it  was  a  case  of  “  sink  or  swim,”  and  I  took  my  lessons  in 
the  middle  of  the  stream  as  many  another  has  been  forced  to  do. 
For  three  months  I  slept  and  woke  Fourth  of  Jury.  It  haunted 
me  like  a  ghost,  nay,  it  inspired  me  like  a  good  fairy.  Men  and 
women  rallied  to  my  help  as  if  I  were  their  very  own. 

Although  ours  was  a  Methodist  college,  Episcopal  ladies 
were  on  the  Committee,  Presbyterians  bore  the  battle’s  brunt, 
Congregationalists  cheered  on  the  battalions  and  did  not  a  little 
of  the  fighting,  while  Baptists  were  outdone  by  nobody,  and 
Methodists  headed  by  Mrs.  Mary  F.  Haskin,  president  of  our 
Board  of  Trustees  were  “  at  it  and  all  at  it,”  intent  upon  making 
The  Women's  Fourth  of  July ”  celebration  what  it  was,  the  most 
complete  ever  known  in  the  Northwest  and  the  most  unique  ever 
held  upon  the  continent. 

As  a  key-note  I  prepared  a  circular,  of  which  the  following 
is  a  synopsis.  It  went  out  by  cartloads,  indeed  Uncle  Sam’s 
special  express  was  our  chief  base  of  operations,  next  to  the 
newspapers : 

CIRCULAR  LETTER. 

Addressed  to  all  who  are  interested  i?i  the  girls  of  the  Northwest : 

It  is  a  very  easy  matter  to  sneer  at  the  “Girl  of  the  Period,”  to  dis¬ 
course  upon  her  frivolity,  lack  of  perseverance,  and  general  “shiftlessness.” 

It  is  a  less  easy,  but  not  at  all  an  impossible  matter  to  cure  her  of  these 
faults. 

Is  not  this  last  the  more  excellent,  as  it  is  the  more  generous,  way  ? 


The  Girls  of  the  Northwest. 


203 


How  can  we  better  begin  this  cure  than  by  proving  to  the  period’s  much, 
berated  girl  that  we  set  no  higher  value  upon  any  member  of  our  complex 
American  society  than  upon  herself ;  that  we  believe  her  worthy  of  the  best 
we  have  to  offer  ;  that  we  regard  her  faults,  not  as  inherent,  but,  rather,  as 
the  result  of  a  defective  training,  for  which,  not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  upon 
it,  she  is  to  be  pitied,  and  we  are  to  be  blamed  ? 

We  believe  the  common  sense  of  the  American  people  has  arrived  at 
this  conclusion,  and  that  a  higher  education  for  women  is  demanded  by  the 
spirit  of  the  age. 

Perhaps  this  sentiment  has  nowhere  found  a  more  correct  exponent 
than  E.  O.  Haven,  LL.D.,  to  whose  efforts  women  owe  their  admission  to 
the  foremost  University  in  the  United  States,  that  of  Michigan,  and,  more 
recently,  to  the  Northwestern  University  at  Evanston,  near  Chicago,  of 
which  Dr.  Haven  is  now  president. 

And  perhaps  no  attempt  to  utilize  this  new  and  noble  public  sentiment 
has  been  so  commensurate  with  its  progressive  character  as  the  establish¬ 
ment  of  the 

Evanston  College  for  Women, 

under  the  control  of  a  Woman’s  Board  of  Trustees,  and  intended  to  supple¬ 
ment  the  advantages  of  the 

Northwestern  University. 

To  foster  the  interests  of  this  new  institution,  an 
Educational  Association 

has  been  formed,  of  which  Mrs.  A.  H.  Hoge  (whose  name  is  endeared  to 
all  hearts  by  her  devotion  to  the  “  Boys  in  Blue  ”  throughout  the  great  Re¬ 
bellion),  is  the  President,  and  of  which  prominent  ladies,  connected  with 
the  various  denominations,  are  officers. 

Under  the  auspices  of  this  association,  it  is  proposed  to  hold  at 

EVANSTON, 

Next  Fourth  of  July, 

A  GRAND  CELEBRATION, 

at  which  time  the  corner-stone  of  the  new  building  will  be  laid  ;  orations 
will  be  pronounced  by  some  of  our  most  celebrated  countrymen,  and 

a  banquet 

worthy  of  the  occasion  will  be  served. 

Notice  is  hereby  given  of  the  Pre-emption  of  the  Fourth  of  July  in 
the  interest  of 

THE  GIRLS  OF  THE  NORTHWEST. 

Then  followed  an  appeal  to  editors,  pastors,  etc.,  to  help  in 
the  new  movement;  also  a  call  for  “supplies”  for  the  tables, 
fancy  articles,  flowers,  “and  any  curious  or  useful  objects  which 


204' 


Laying  of  the  Corner-stone . 


will  add  to  the  interest  and  profit  of  the  occasion.”  The  call 
was  signed  by  the  “  Committee  on  behalf  of  the  Evanston  Wom¬ 
an’s  Educational  Association,”  consisting  of  Emily  Huntington 
Miller,  corresponding  secretary  Ladies’  Board  of  Trustees  ;  Mrs. 
Mary  B.  Willard,  recording  secretary  of  the  same  ;  Mrs.  General 
Beveridge,  Mrs.  Sarah  B.  Bradley,  and  myself,  as  president  of 
the  college. 

We  went  to  the  village  authorities  and  modestly  asked  for 
one  of  its  parks  as  the  building  site  of  our  college,  and,  to  their 
everlasting  credit  be  it  said,  they  gave  it.  We  had  the  founda¬ 
tion  laid  for  the  elegant  Woman’s  College  Building  and  arranged 
that  the  corner-stone  should  be  set  in  place  at  the  great  celebra¬ 
tion.  We  induced  the  famous  Ellsworth  Zouaves  to  come  and 
drill  inside  an  inclosure  on  the  campus,  for  an  admission  fee  ;  we 
got  a  generous  jeweler  to  give  a  silver  ball  for  which  the  College 
base-ball-ists  of  the  country  were  invited  to  compete.  On  the  lake 
we  arranged  (that  is,  Gen.  A.  C.  Ducat  did)  for  a  regatta  with  a 
winner’s  prize  ;  in  the  University  chapel  we  had  an  amateur  play, 
in  which  our  young  ‘  ‘  society  people,  ’  ’  led  by  my  friend,  Kate 
Jackson,  performed  three  separate  times  that  day  to  crowded 
audiences,  at  so  much  a  head.  A  general  of  the  army  (afterward 
Gov.  John  L.  Beveridge)  was  persuaded  to  act  as  marshal  ;  a 
United  States  Senator,  Hon.  J.  R.  Doolittle,  of  Wisconsin,  pro¬ 
nounced  the  oration  ;  a  distinguished  public  reader,  Prof.  R.  Iy. 
Cumnock,  gave  the  Declaration  of  Independence  ;  Gov.  John 
Evans,  of  Colorado,  for  whom  our  town  is  named,  headed  a  sub¬ 
scription  list  that  aggregated  thirty  thousand  dollars,  and  the 
ladies  served  three  thousand  dollars’  worth  of  dinners,  notwith¬ 
standing  all  the  picnickers  that  filled  our  groves.  The  Chicago 
press  had  during  three  months  given  us  ten  thousand  dollars’ 
worth  of  free  advertising  ;  special  trains  and  steamboat  excur¬ 
sions  bore  the  people  to  our  feast  with  waving  flags  and  bands  of 
music,  but  there  was  no  clang  of  war  ;  no  cannon,  fire-cracker  or 
torpedo  was  tolerated  at  the  Women1  s  Fourth  of  July.  The  cli¬ 
max  of  the  day  was  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone,  a  woman, 
Mrs.  Plaskin,  assisting  in  the  ceremony,  at  which  a  beautiful 
dedication  song  by  Emily  Huntington  Miller,  one  of  our  trust¬ 
ees,  was  sung.  On  this  occasion  we  all  walked  over  from  the 
campus  to  the  park  in  long  procession,  and  my  place  was  beside 


The  Woman' s  Kingdom. 


205 


my  brotherly  and  prescient  friend,  Rev.  Dr.  E.  0.  Haven,  who 
told  me,  as  we  went,  how  deeply  .he  rejoiced  in  all  the  011-going 
movements  by  which  women  were  coming  to  their  kingdom. 
‘  ‘  When  they  are  fully  come,  ’  ’  he  said,  with  that  beautiful  smile 
not  to  be  forgotten  by  any  who  have  seen  it,  “  there  will  be  peace, 
even  as  here  to-day  they  have  preserved  the  peace  for  us  ;  never 
before  was  there  a  Fourth  of  July  without  noise  or  accident.” 

It  now  became  my  duty  to  present  the  plan  of  the  new 
college  to  good  people  wherever  I  could  get  a  hearing.  The 
Congregational  Church  in  Evanston  was  the  scene  of  my  first 
appearance,  and  the  ordeal  was  difficult,  but  Dr.  Haven  also 
spoke,  and  that  made  my  trial  less.  Rock  River  Conference 
welcomed  me  most  courteously,  and  in  many  towns  of  the  North¬ 
west  I  sang  the  praises  of  the  great  “Northwestern”  and  its 
sturdy  little  sister,  the  Evanston  College  for  Radies.  All  that 
summer  we  planned  the  course  of  study,  and  my  pen  was  busy 
in  pursuit  of  pupils,  who,  on  the  opening  day,  filled  the  old*  col¬ 
lege  where  I  had  graduated  twelve  years  before,  and  which  we 
had  leased  until  our  new  building  should  be  completed. 

Our  pupils  of  the  Evanston  College  for  Radies  were  to  have 
all  the  school  privileges  of  the  University  at  the  regular  tuition 
rates  ;  they  were  to  take  music,  art,  and  several  other  studies  at 
our  own  college  building,  and  were  to  be  under  our  care  exclu¬ 
sively  as  to  morals  and  manners.  For  those  who  did  not  wish  to 
pursue  any  of  the  University  courses,  one  having  a  larger  propor¬ 
tion  of  English  and  modern  languages  was  carefully  prepared. 
As  planned  by  Dr.  Haven  and  ourselves,  we  had,  in  fact,  five 
departments ;  Modern  Ranguages,  Fine  Arts,  Music,  Health, 
Home  and  Home  Industries. 


I 


CHAPTER  IX. 


SELF-GOVERNMENT  FOR  GIRLS. 

As  I  follow,  in  these  later  years,  the  thorny  path  of  a  re¬ 
former,  I  sometimes  think  how  good  and  pleasant  would  have 
been  the  quiet  life,  so  universally  approved,  of  a  teacher  of  girls. 
But  one  confident  belief  gives  me  grace  and  courage  to  go  on, 
and  it  is  this  : 

“  My  bark  is  wafted  to  the  strand 
By  breath  divine, 

And  on  the  helm  there  rests  a  Hand 
Other  than  mine.” 

.  In  Evanston  College  for  Ladies,  for  the  first  and  only  time 
in  my  history  as  a  teacher,  I  was  for  one  year  free  to  work  my 
will  as  an  elder  sister  of  girls  —  for  this  was  then  my  idea  of  my 
relation  to  them  ;  now,  I  would  say,  “  a  mother  to  girls.’ ’ 

Dr.  J.  B.  Chess,  of  Chicago,  yearly  gave  a  gold  medal  for 
good  manners,  which  keyed  the  whole  school  to  a  higher  ideal, 
and  Miss  Kate  Jackson,  who  had  the  French  classes,  joined  me 
in  offering  prizes  for  neatness  and  tastefulness  in  rooms. 

Every  Friday  afternoon  a  lecture  was  given  in  the  College 
chapel  at  which  the  “Church  Roll-Call”  was  had,  to  which  all 
lady  students  were  expected  to  respond.  History,  biography, 
books  and  reading,  art,  travel,  manners,  health,  and  many  other 
kindred  subjects  were  brought  forward.  Mrs.  Kate  Doggett, 
President  of  the  Fortnightly  (Chicago),  gave  several  illustrated 
lectures  on  art ;  Rev.  Dr.  L.  H.  Chamberlain,  spoke  on  his  favor¬ 
ite  “  Philip  Van  Artevelde,”  and  a  lawyer  of  Evanston,  Mr.  L- 
H.  BouteU,  gave  his  reminiscences  of  Margeret  Fuller  Ossoli. 
My  own  talks  were  frequent,  and  related  chiefly  to  wdiat  I  am 
fond  of  calling  “Moral  Horticulture.”  Every  day  each  pupil 
had  twenty  minutes  alone  in  her  room.  We  did  not  at  all  pre¬ 
scribe  what  should  be  done,  but  what  we  hoped  was  perfectly 
well  known  —  it  was  a  breathing  place  for  heavenly  thoughts. 
I  valued  this  time  more  than  any  other  except  evening  prayers. 

<  206J 


A  More  Excellent  Way. 


207 


I  constantly  visited  the  young  ladies  in  their  rooms,  never 
once  being  met  with  coldness,  and  almost  always  we  knelt 
together  to  ask  God’s  blessing  on  those  at  home,  and  those  here, 
who  were  often  lonely  because  home  was  far  away. 

On  the  first  Sunday  after  the  college  opened,  one  of  my 
pupils  came  to  my  room  saying:  “  Miss  Willard,  we  can’t  bear 
to  go  in  a  procession  over  to  the  church.  They  say  it  has  always 
been  the  custom,  but  if  you  would  trust  us  to  go  independently, 
I  feel  sure  you  would  never  have  occasion  to  regret  it ;  for  we 
would  all  be  loyal  to  you  and  to  the  school.” 

My  heart  responded,  “Amen  and  amen.  We  will  find  a 
more  excellent  way.”  Very  soon  a  request  came  that  the  young 
women  might  be  members  of  the  (open)  literary  societies  of  the 
University,  of  which  there  were  four,  the  Hinman  and  Adelphic 
in  College,  the  Philomathean  and  Euphronian  in  the  Preparatory 
School.  But  these  societies  all  met  in  the  evening,  the  distance 
from  our  college  was  six  or  seven  squares,  the  young  ladies  had 
always  been  strictly  kept  to  many  rules,  and  when  they  left  the 
college  grounds  to  go  to  public  audiences  were  to  be  accompa¬ 
nied  by  teachers.  The  idea  of  their  participating  in  debates  with 
young  men,  and  making  orations,  was  unheard  of,  and  “  besides,” 
quoth  some  objectors,  “  some  one  of  them  might  prevent  a  young 
man  from  having  as  frequent  opportunity  to  speak  as  he  other¬ 
wise  would  have  had,  or  might  possibly  be  elected  president  of 
a  society — such  an  improper  position  for  a  young  lady  to  hold  !  ’  ’ 
But  Dr.  Haven  thought  the  objections  were  all  mole-hills,  and 
the  advantages  were  mountain  high.  “  Here  they  can  measure 
swords,”  he  said  ;  “here,  even  more  than  in  the  recitation  room, 
young  men  will  learn  that  young  women  are  their  peers.  It  will 
break  down  the  prejudice  against  woman’s  public  speech  and 
work  ;  it  will  refine  the  young  men  and  develop  intellectual 
power  in  the  girls — precisely  what  each  class  most  needs.” 

But  he  warned  me  more  than  once  that  the  success  of  the 
venturesome  experiment  was  in  my  hands.  Teachers  could  not 
well  attend  the  societies  ;  their  presence  would  be  irksome.  The 
girls  must  go  and  come  at  night,  and  they  must  do  this  always 
and  strictly  by  themselves. 

I  remembered  the  clandestine  visits  of  “University  boys” 
to  our  college  grounds  in  former  days,  the  secret  sleigh-rides  and 


208 


Arbiters  of  Destiny . 


moonlight  walks,  from  which  my  sister  and  I  had  always  kept 
aloof,  but  of  which  we  dared  not  tell,  and  I  knew  that  in  our 
alma  mater  there  had  been  no  more,  if  as  much,  of  this  as  in  the 
average  girls’  boarding  school.  Could  I  brave  public  opinion 
and  take  the  risks  on  a  method  never  before  applied  to  a  co-edu¬ 
cation  school  ?  Was  it  right  thus  to  hazard  our  sacred  cause  ? 
Much  I  mused  and  often  prayed. 

One  evening  soon  after  these  requests  for  larger  liberty,  I 
asked  my  pupils  to  remain  after  prayers.  I  can  see  the  bright 
double  parlors  planted  out  to  my  beautiful  garden  of  girls.  I  told 
them  all  that  has  been  stated  here,  all  my  scruples,  aspirations, 
hopes.  I  told  them  how  I  came  to  Evanston  as  a  school-girl  about 
thirteen  years  before,  and  of  my  “ne’er-do-weel”  term  in  this 
very  college,  of  my  conversion,  and,  finally,  of  my  heart-break 
when  my  sister  Mary  died.  Then  I  laid  before  them  my  plan  of 
school  government,  which  was  to  put  it  almost  wholly  into  their 
own  hands,  to  have  no  rules  except  those  that  they  and  their 
teachers  felt  to  be  of  vital  importance,  and  closed  with  some  such 
statement  as  the  following  :  ‘  ‘  Here  is  an  enterprise  the  like  of 

which  was  never  seen,  a  college  with  women  trustees  and  faculty, 
a  woman  president  and  women  students.  Up  yonder  in  the  grove 
is  a  first-class  men’s  college,  and  to  every  one  of  its  advantages 
we  are  invited,  on  one  condition — all  of  us  must  at  all  times  be 
Christian  ladies.  Now,  girls,  I  place  your  destiny  in  3'our  own 
hands ;  I  confide  mine  to  you,  also,  for  this  is  my  own  home 
town,  and  my  good  name  is  more  to  me  than  life.  Besides  all 
this,  and  greater,  the  destiny  of  this  woman’s  college,  and,  to 
some  degree,  that  of  the  co-education  experiment,  rests  with  you 
young  creatures,  fair  and  .sweet.  God  help  you  to  be  good  !  ” 
We  knelt  in  prayer  for  grace  arkl  guidance,  and  then,  with  my 
faithful  faculty,  I  passed  from  the  room,  leaving  the  girls  to  or¬ 
ganize,  according  to  the  written  plans  I  had  previously  explained 
to  the  leading  pupils,  their  ‘  'Roll  of  Honor  ’  ’  and  ‘  ‘  Self-gover?ied 
Societies.  ’  ’ 

How  nobly  tney  fulfilled  their  trust  !  I  used  oftentimes  to 
wish  that  I  behaved  as  well.  On  Sunday,  when  they  entered 
church  after  their  own  sweet  will,  with  what  pride,  even  such  as 
might  thrill  a  mother’s  breast,  I  noted  their  unexceptionable 
manners.  No  whispering,  no  tittering  ;  and  woe  to  the  youth 


-  1m 


> 


“  A  Roll  of  Honor  Letter 


209 


who  tried  to  slip  sly  billets-doux  into  the  hands  of  “my  girls” 
as  they  entered  or  left  the  sacred  edifice.  How  many  a  Friday 
night  at  ten  o’clock,  lying  in  my  bed  at  Rest  Cottage,  four  blocks 
from  the  Woman’s  College  and  on  the  same  street,  I  have  heard 
the  light  steps  of  that  long  procession  going  home  from  the  Uni¬ 
versity  building,  where  they,  separating  into  four  groups  as  they 
entered  the  campus,  had  attended  their  respective  societies,  and  I 
have  wept  to  think  how  true  and  self-respecting  a  college  full  of 
girls  could  be  !  The  town  pronounced  my  method  “  a  success  ’’; 
Dr.  Haven  was  satisfied  —  which  meant  everything  to  me — and  a 
teacher  not  now  in  the  University,  one  who  thought  my  “gov¬ 
ernment’’  was  “  hair-brained,”  said,  “The  trouble  is,  these  girls 
are  quite  too  loyal  ;  they  make  a  hobby  of  it.  ’  ’ 

Here  are  my  first  letter  as  president  to  the  Roll  of  Honor 
girls,  and  their  “  general  principles,”  together  with  the  pledge  of 
the  higher  grade  : 

Dear  and  Trusted  Friends — In  your  novel  and  important  posi¬ 
tion,  you  have  need  of  all  the  guidance  Divine  and  human  that  you  can 
possibly  obtain  ;  the  reputation  of  the  college  is  largely  in  your  hands, 
hence  as  you  already  possess  the  unreserved  confidence  of  your  teachers, 
you  have  been  intrusted  by  them  with  intricate  and  delicate  responsibilities. 
Your  conduct,  your  conversation,  your  scholarship,  your  manners,  will  be 
henceforth  carefully  observed  by  all  your  fellow- students.  Impressed  as  I 
am  most  deeply  with  these  thoughts,  I  shall  implore  for  you  the  guidance  of 
the  Supreme  Power  in  your  new  undertaking,  and  I  especially  urge  you  to 
do  this  in  your  private  devotions  and  in  each  one  of  your  committee  meet¬ 
ings.  When  we  begin  with  prayer,  we  may  be  sure  we  are  on  the  right  track 
to  a  genuine  success. 

Now,  as  to  the  practical  workings  of  this  new  venture,  the  faculty 
suggests  : 

1.  That  you  appoint  a  regular  time  and  place  of  meeting. 

2.  That  you  send  in  each  week  a  written  report  to  the  faculty  meeting 
on  Monday  evening. 

3.  That  to  this  end  you  appoint  a  secretary. 

4.  That  you  have  a  committee  for  each  literary  society  at  the  Univer¬ 
sity  and  the  Preparatory  department,  and  also  a  church  committee. 

5.  That  you  get  a  list  of  all  the  lady  boarders  in  the  college  who  pro¬ 
pose  to  join,  and  ascertain  which  society  is  preferred.  Then  assign  to  each 
sub-committee  those  going  to  its  society. 

6.  That  you  all  go  together  and  return  together,  and  in  all  cases  unac¬ 
companied  by  gentlemen,  and  that  you  never  go  in  companies  of  fewer 
than  four. 

7.  That  you  leave  at  the  close  of  the  literary  exercises  at  ten  o’clock. 

14 


210 


Prmciples  and  Pledge . 


8.  That  if  experience  proves  it  to  be  impracticable  for  the  University 
and  Preparatory  detachments  to  meet  after  the  exercises,  that  the  two 
return  separately,  but  those  from  both  the  Preparatory  societies  together, 
and  those  from  both  University  societies  together. 

9.  That  the  young  ladies  sit  together  and  choose  certain  seats,  which 
they  can  retain  henceforth. 

10.  That  in  regard  to  quiet  deportment  on  the  street,  attention  during 
the  exercises,  faithfulness  in  performing  duties  of  the  society,  the  com¬ 
mittee  report  to  the  faculty  as  a  committee,  thus  relieving  every  one  from 
personal  embarrassment. 

11.  Any  member  of  the  Roll  of  Honor  who  regards  this  as  too  much  to 
undertake  must  speak  now  or  ever  after  hold  her  peace. 

On  behalf  of  Faculty, 

.  Frances  E.  Willard. 

GENERAE  PRINCIPEES  OF  THE  ROEE  OE  HONOR. 

Roll  of  Honor  girls  must  be  examples  to  the  flock.  They  will  not,  of 
course,  disregard  the  smallest  of  our  few  regulations.  They  will  not  ignore 
study  hours,  enter  rooms  in  study  hours,  keep  lights  burning  after  bell,  be 
late  at  meals  or  recitations,  be  noisy  or  uproarious  either  in  or  out  of  school 
hours.  They  will  be  low-voiced  and  gentle-mannered,  kind  and  considerate 
toward  all,  and  just  as  much  above  reproach  as  any  of  their  teachers. 

They  will  not  be  regarded  as  Roll  of  Honor  young  ladies  after  they 
have  transgressed  a  single  regulation,  and  their  places  will  be  supplied  by 
others,  and  the  number  enlarged  by  those  whose  lives  among  us  are  above 
reproach. 

[By  order  of  the  Faculty.] 

peedge  of  the  seef-governed  gires. 

I  promise  so  to  conduct  myself  that  if  every  other  pupil  followed  my 
example  our  school  would  need  no  rules  whatever,  but  each  young  lady 
would  be  trusted  to  be  a  law  unto  herself. 

I  promise  that  I  will  always  try  to  do  the  things  that  make  for  peace. 

I  wish  to  have  in  my  book  the  list  of  the  original  members 
of  this  society  who  are  among  the  choicest  of  my  friends. 

EEECTED  BY  THE  FACULTY. 

.  Sarah  Heston,  Belle  Webb, 

Emma  Warner,  Susan  D.  Mitchell. 

ELECTED  BY  THE  PUPILS. 

Mary  Pattison,  Jennie  Pattison, 

Ella  Wheeler,  Belle  Miller. 

Alice  Yaple. 

The  first  list  was  limited  to  nine,  because  we  wished  to 
make  it  a  high  dignity  to  belong,  and  because  we  could  rally 
around  this  nucleus,  when  its  character  was  established,  more 


An  Esprit  de  Corps.  21  r 

successfully  than  if  we  had  placed  a  larger  number  on  the  list 
at  the  beginning. 

The  constitution  of  the  Roll  of  Honor  Club  contained  the 
following  : 

The  general  principles  of  this  club  shall  be  to  cooperate  with  the  Fac¬ 
ulty  in  securing  good  order  and  lady-like  behavior  among  the  boarding 
pupils,  both  in  study  and  recreation  hours,  in  inspiring  a  high  sense  of 
honor,  personal  responsibility  and  self-respect,  and  especially  conducting 
in  this  spirit  the  attendance  of  the  young  ladies  at  the  literary  societies 
and  church. 

As  this  method  developed,  it  was  my  custom  to  say  at  the 
beginning  of  a  term,  “  We  will  have  no  rules  whatever,  just  so 
long  as  everything  is  quiet,  your  time  diligently  occupied  and 
your  punctuality  without  flaw.  We  have  no  need  of  rules.  Let 
us  see  how  long  we  can  go  without  them.  I  will  post  a  time¬ 
table  in  the  hall,  and  let  us  live  by  it.  Regard  the  teachers  as 
you  would  your  mother  and  elder  sisters  at  home.  You  advise 
with  them  as  to  what  is.  best  for  you  in  every  way,  feel  free  to  do 
the  same  with  us  ;  that  is  what  we  are  here  for.  ’  ’ 

The  girls  were  so  delighted  to  have  no  rules  that  the  older 
ones  gave  little  comfort  to  the  younger  when  they  began  mis¬ 
behaving,  which  they  did,  not  from  bad  intention,  but  on  account 
of  thoughtlessness.  After  awhile,  however,  we  would  see  the 
necessity  of  some  one  rule,  then  it  would  be  announced.  Every 
girl  in  school  was  a  candidate  for  the  Roll  of  Honor,  which  dis¬ 
tinction  could  only  be  reached  by  one  month  of  faultless  deport¬ 
ment  and  punctuality.  So  it  fell  out  that  for  the  first  month  we 
had  no  rules,  on  the  principle  that  “A  new  broom  sweeps  clean.” 
I11  the  second  month,  we  had  almost  no  need  of  rules,  for  every 
one  was  on  the  keen  stretch  to  reach  the  Roll  of  Honor,  and  the 
third  month  all  being  anxious  to  remain  at  that  high  grade,  there 
was  an  esprit  de  corps  in  the  school  that  held  the  pupils  to  the 
mark.  So  that  the  bondage  of  school  discipline,  of  which  I  had 
had  so  much  always  as  a  teacher  and  member  of  faculties,  was 
reduced  to  a  minimum,  indeed,  became  almost  inappreciable. 
This  was  especially  true  when  we  had  graduated  from  the  Roll 
of  Honor  grade  enough  of  our  older  and  more  prominent  girls 
into  the  Self-governed  class,  so  that  their  noble  behavior  was  in¬ 
deed  “  an  example  to  the  flock,”  an  incentive  to  every  one  below 


212 


A  Problem  Solved. 


them,  because  the  self-governed  grade  was  open  to  the  youngest. 
I  remember  that  my  little  cousin,  Rilla  Norton,  when  only  twelve 
years  of  age,  not  only  attained  this  honor  but  ever  afterward 
maintained  it. 

I  sent  this  letter  to  my  pupils  when  the  second  term  began : 

Evanston,  III.,  January  n,  1873. 

My  Dear  “ Self-governed  ”  and  “Role  of  Honor  ”  Girls — There 
are  two  tilings  of  which  I  wished  to  speak  at  your  meeting  to-day,  but  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  attend,  hence,  I  send  you  this  “  encyclical  ”  : 

1.  In  relation  to  the  standing  of  the  old  pupils  whom  we  welcome  back 
to  the  college  this  term.  Having  great  confidence  in  your  judgment,  I  ask 
you  to  take  their  cases  into  careful  consideration  and  report  to  the  faculty 
what,  in  your  judgment,  will  be  the  best  way  to  arrange  the  matter.  Re¬ 
member  that  you  thus  establish  a  “  precedent  ”  and  that  “precedents”  are 
often  inconvenient  unless  very  general  in  their  application. 

2.  The  subduing  and  controlling  of  the  vexing  spirit  called  “noise” 
is  one  of  the  most  difficult  problems  to  a  household  that  aspires  to  be  har¬ 
monious  and  peaceful.  Last  term  I  spent  more  breath  upon  this  theme  than 
I  intend  to  spare  from  nobler  occupations  for  the  future.  During  vacation 
this  revelation  has  come  to  me  : 

That  Roll  of  Honor  club  can  do  whatsoever  it  will.  Thanks  to  the 
high-minded  integrity  and  good  common  sense  of  its  members,  the  problem 
of  membership  in  the  literary  societies  is  solved  to  the  satisfaction  of  all 
concerned.  Thanks  to  them,  also,  the  uproar  that  once  disgraced  our  chapel 
on  Friday  afternoon  is  quelled.  What  can  they  not  achieve?  I  will  sub¬ 
mit  to  them  this  subject  of  quietness  in  the  college  building,  ask  them  to 
secure  it  for  us  by  such  means  as  they  see  fit,  ^nd  to  be  examples  of  it  in 
the  future  as  in  the  past.  Let  us  see  what  their  inventive  faculties  can  do 
about  it  They  have  proved  themselves,  thus  far,  equal  to  any  emergency  ; 
they  will  again. 

vSo  I  leave  the  subject  with  you.  The  good  order  and  quiet  of  your 
temporary  home  ought  surely  to  be  as  important  to  you  as  it  can  be  to  your 
teachers. 

One  thing  more.  Please  elect  ushers  for  next  Friday  p.  M.  Don’t  let 
your  meetings  stagnate.  Get  up  new  things.  Have  wide-awrake  critics  to 
tell  you  your  faults,  appoint  at  least  two,  one  for  our  end  of  the  street  and 
one  for  the  opposite. 

Always  affectionately  yours, 

Frances  E.  Willard. 

They  replied  by  sending  me  the  following  : 

We,  the  undersigned,  do  pledge  ourselves,  in  order  to  subdue  the 
noise  and  disturbance  which  has  been  of  late  and  is  now  a  growing  evil  in 
our  school,  to  faithfully  observe  the  following  resolutions  : 

Resolved :  1.  That  we  will  not  congregate  in  the  halls  or  on  the  stairs. 

2.  That  we  will  avoid  loud  talking  in  passing  through  the  halls. 

3.  That  in  going  to  and  from  the  dining-room  we  will  be  quiet,  also 
while  at  the  table. 


Self- Govern  ment. 


213 


4.  That  in  passing  to  the  chapel  and  before  the  exercises  commence, 
we  do  each  take  it  upon  ourselves  by  our  example  and  otherwise  to  do  all 
we  can  to  maintain  the  best  of  order. 

5.  That,  during  the  meditation  hours,  those  of  us  who  remain  in  the 
parlor  will  try  so  to  conduct  ourselves  as  not  to  disturb  the  teachers,  or  those 
who  desire  to  study. 

6.  That  we,  as  members  of  the  Roll  of  Honor,  do  pledge  ourselves  to 
remember  and  live  up  to  the  vows  which  we  made  when  placed  on  the  roll, 
that  we  may  retain  the  confidence  of  our  teachers,  the  respect  and  esteem 
of  all,  and  that  the  injunction,  “Study  to  be  quiet,”  shall  not  be  forgotten 
by  us. 

After  one  year’s  successful  trial,  the  plan  was  officially  out¬ 
lined  for  the  public  in  the  following  language  : 

government. 

The  phrases  made  and  provided  for  literature  of  the  catalogue  style 
will  not  be  employed  under  this  head.  “Mild  but  firm,”  “of  the  parental 
type,”  have  been  the  usual  changes  rung  when  this  fruitful  topic  was  under 
consideration. 

The  general  basis  of  government  in  this  institution  is,  that  merit  shall 
be  distinguished  by  privilege.  Any  young  lady  who  establishes  for  herself  a 
trustworthy  character  will  be  trusted  accordingly.  After  a  probation  of  one 
month,  any  one  who,  during  this  time,  has  been  loyal  to  the  regulations  of 
the  school,  and  has  not  once  required  reproof,  will  have  her  name  inscribed 
upon  the  Roll  of  Honor,  and  will  be  invested  with  certain  powers  and  respon¬ 
sibilities  usually  restricted  to  the  faculty.  The  Roll  of  Honor  has  its  con¬ 
stitution,  officers  and  regular  meetings,  and  sends  written  reports  to  the 
teachers  relative  to  the  trusts  of  which  it  is  made  the  depository.  A  single 
reproof  conditions,  and  two  reproofs  remove  any  of  its  members,  who  can 
regain  their  places  by  the  same  process  'through  which  they  were  at  first 
attained.  Those  who  during  one  entire  term  have  not  been  conditioned 
(by  a  single  reproof)  upon  the  Roll  of  Honor,  are  promoted  to  the  Self-gov¬ 
erned  List,  and  give  this  pledge  :  “I  will  try  so  to  act  that,  if  all  others  fol¬ 
lowed  my  example,  our  school  wTould  need  no  rules  whatever.  In  manners 
and  in  punctuality  I  will  try  to  be  a  model,  and  in  all  my  intercourse  with 
my  teachers  and  school-mates,  I  will  seek,  above  all  else,  the  things  that 
make  for  peace.” 

Thenceforward,  these  young  ladies  do  as  they  please  so  long  as  they 
please  to  do  right.  Every  pupil  in  school  is  eligible,  first  to  the  Roll  of 
Honor ;  next  to  a  place  among  the  Self-governed,  hence  there  is  no 
ground  for  jealousy.  Scholarship  does  not  enter  into  the  requirements  of 
admission — character  is  placed  above  all  competition  here. 

A  year’s  trial  of  this  plan  has  proved  that  it  is  practicable,  and  that 
school  discipline  may  vitally  contribute  to  the  growth  of  noble,  self-reliant 
character.  The  ideal  set  before  each  pupil,  the  sum  of  all  “regulations,” 
the  proverb  of  the  school,  is  this  :  “  Just  be  a  Christian  Lady.” 

N.  B. — At  the  close  of  the  year,  twelve  young  ladies  were  on  the  Self- 
governed  List,  and  all  the  rest  were  on  the  Roll  of  Honor. 


214 


Notable  Names. 


Successful  candidates  were  promoted  to  the  Roll  of  Honor,  or 
the  Self-governed  grade,  at  evening  prayers,  pledging  themselves 
before  the  school  and  receiving  the  right  hand  of  fellowship. 

I  think  our  girls  felt  as  did  the  young  knights  of  old,  and  held 
their  vows  as  sacredly.  To  show  the  care  they  exercised,  I  copy 
a  note  from  the  Roll  of  Honor  girls  at  College  Cottage  : 

Miss  Wiuard  and  Mfmbers  of  Faculty — The  Roll  of  Honor  have 

decided  that  Miss - and  Miss - remain  on  the  Junior  Grade,  and 

Miss - should  be  on  the  same  grade  if  at  all  on  the  Roll  of  Honor. 

Also  by  unanimous  vote  that  none  be  promoted  to  the  Self-governed 
Fist  until  next  term. 

We  pasted  in  the  parlor  the  list  of  the  Roll  of  Honor,  and 
Self-governed  girls,  and  printed  in  the  catalogue,  next  to  the 
faculty,  the  names  of  their  leaders.  I  will  copy  them  here,  for  I 
like  to  link  those  noble  names  and  memories  with  the  story  of 
my  life  : 

Chairmen  of  the  Roll  of  Honor,  Belle  B.  Webb,  first  term  ; 
Julia  D.  McArthur,  second  term  ;  Jenny  E.  Pattison,  third  term. 
Chairmen  of  Roll  of  Honor,  at  College  Cottage,  Sarah  E.  Cathcart, 
first  ;  Mary  E.  Wood,  second  ;  R.  Frank  Remington,  third. 

Without  noble  coadjutors  in  the  faculty,  this  system  could 
not  have  succeeded,  but  we  were  a  unit  in  purpose,  plans  and 
personal  affection.  Our  faculty  meetings  were  a  refreshment  to 
jaded  nerves.  Never  as  a  white  ribbon  leader  have  I  been  sup¬ 
ported  more  ably  or  more  warmly  than  by  those  devoted  and 
gifted  women  whose  names  I  wish  to  string  on  a  rosary  of  per¬ 
petual  and  endeared  remembrance :  Minerva  B.  Norton,  Kate  A. 
Jackson,  Evelyn  C.  Crosby,  Harriet  E.  Reed,  H.  Maria  Petten- 
gill,  Ada  F.  Brigham,  Fanny  D.  Smith. 

Among  our  teachers  not  boarding  at  the  college  were  Oscar 
A.  Mayo,  Anna  S.  Lewis,  Mary  L.  McClure,  Ida  M.  Kessler, 
William  Arnold.  As  lecturers  on  physiology  and  hygiene,  we 
had  at  different  times  the  following  physicians  :  Mary  A.  Thomp¬ 
son,  Sarah  Hackett  Stevenson,  Mary  J.  Safford. 

My  friend,  Professor  Charles  C.  Bragdon,  reared  in  Evanston, 
a  graduate  of  our  University,  and  with  his  mother  and  her  family 
our  nearest  neighbors  during  his  college  life,  sends  me  the  follow-^ 
ing  reply  to  the  question,  “  How  long  have  you  governed  by  my 
method,  and  how  does  it  work  ?  ”  He  says,  “  Used  this  method 
fourteen  years,”  and  adds  this  letter  : 


Testimony  from  Lascll  Seminary. 


215 


Laseee  Seminary,  AuburndalE,  Mass.,  January  24,  1889. 

Dear  Friend — After  a  residence  of  three  months,  a  committee  of 
twelve  pupils,  chosen  indiscriminately  by  the  pupils,  nominates  candidates 
for  the  Self-governed  List  and  Roll  of  Honor.  Bach  one  of  the  twelve,  with¬ 
out  consultation  with  any  one,  and  without  knowledge  as  to  how  any  other 
one  of  the  committee  votes,  writes  her  list  of  candidates.  Those  who 
receive  a  majority  of  the  twelve  votes  for  the  Self-governed  rank  are  made 
into  a  list,  and  those  receiving  a  majority  for  the  Roll  of  Honor,  into  a  second 
list.  The  teachers  review  these  lists  in  assembly,  talking  over  each  name 
and  discussing  such  facts  as  to  each  pupil’s  conduct  and  spirit  as  may  be 
brought  out,  more  weight  being  given  to  spirit  than  conduct.  Where  the 
teachers’  votes  agree  with  the  pupils’  list,  the  candidates  are  confirmed. 
Where  the  teachers  differ,  the  pupils’  judgment  is  usually  taken,  though  not 
always.  If  grave  reason  for  differing  appears,  the  teachers  change  a  name 
from  one  list  to  the  other,  or  remove  from  both  lists.  The  lists  thus  settled 
are  read  before  the  school  with  such  comments  as  seem  fitting.  We  try  to 
emphasize  trustworthiness  as  against  petty  details. 

At  the  end  of  the  next  term  (three  months)  the  same  is  repeated,  some 
elevated,  some,  though  not  often  any,  demoted. 

Our  Self-governed  do  as  they  please,  have  all  the  privileges  of  teachers, 
subject  only  to  the  general  order  of  exercises,  such  as  to  go  to  bed  at  9:30, 
to  rise  at  6:  45,  etc. 

The  Roll  of  Honor  have  certain  privileges,  inferior  to  those  of  the  Self- 
governed.  Those  not  on  either  list  are  not  reckoned  as  degraded,  but  as 
“  not  having  yet  attained.”  If  at  any  time  special  reason  arise,  members  are 
removed  from  either  list,  rarely  some  are  promoted  “between  times.”  I 
believe  in  the  method.  I  believe  all  our  teachers  come  to  believe  in  it 
although  new  ones  may  not  at  first. 

The  pupils  of  both  grades  are  put  upon  their  honor  and  helped  to 
live  for  the  general  good,  to  be  good  because  they  are  trusted  to  do  well. 
There  are  cases  always  of  incomplete  comprehension  of  the  spirit  of  the 
thing,  owing  to  incomplete  moral  development.  The  effort  is  to  develop  the 
honor  sense  in  such,  and  to  hold  up  to  disrepute  the  “  being  good  ”  for  the 
loaves  and  fishes,  i.  e.,  the  privileges.  The  danger  in  the  plan  is  the  dis¬ 
couraging  of  those  who  do  not  attain  so  soon  as  they  think  they  ought,  and 
in  the  development  of  self-conceit  among  those  elevated.  These  dangers 
are  constantly  striven  against  by  personal  interviews  as  symptoms  develop^ 
and  the  attempt  is  to  deepen  a  sense  of  both  obligation  and  privilege  to  do 
right  because  it  is  right  and  because  they  are  responsible,  first  and  last,  to 
themselves.  Yours  sincerely, 

Charges  C.  Bragdon. 

The  Woman’s  Educational  Society  gradually  merged  into 
the  Educational  Aid  Association,  to  which  Rev.  O.  Huse,  Isaac 
Hitt  and  Dr.  D.  K.  Pearson  were  the  earliest  contributors ;  Mrs. 
Hannah  Pearson  is  the  present  chairman  of  the  committee.  It 


2i6 


The  Good  Behavior '  Club. 


owns  a  large  building  called  College  Cottage  and  many  women 
of  exceptional  gifts  and  earnestness  have  been  helped  to  help 
themselves  to  an  education  under  its  auspices. 

Concerning  physical  education,  we  made  the  following  dec¬ 
laration  : 

The  young  ladies  walk  over  a  mile  a  day  in  going  to  and  returning 
from  their  various  recitations.  Lectures  on  the  care  of  health  are  given  by 
Dr.  Mary  J.  Safford,  the  well-known  Chicago  physician.  Common  sense 
applied  to  dress  is  one  of  the  problems  in  the  solution  of  which  we  earnestly 
solicit  the  co-operation  of  our  patrons. 

Another  of  our  inventions  was  “The  Good  Behavior  Club,” 
which  proved  to  be  a  favorite  feature  of  the  school.  Teachers 
and  pupils  were  all  members  and  shared  the  offices.  Represen¬ 
tations  were  given  of  all  social  observances,  from  the  White 
House  reception  to  the  morning  call ;  personations  of  distin¬ 
guished  characters,  adding  the  dramatic  charm  so  attractive  to 
both  young  and  old  ;  the  fact  that  gentlemen  participated  in  these; 
by  no  means  detracted  from  the  interest  manifested. 

“  The  Good  Behavior  Club  ”  had  its  “  Question  Box  ”  into 
which  were  dropped  anonymous  queries  and  criticisms  of  all  sorts 
relating  to  care  of  the  toilet,  the  etiquette  of  occasions,  and  the 
small,  sweet  courtesies  of  daily  life.  While  many  of  these  were 
based  upon  observations  involving  the  deficiencies  of  individuals, 
the  strictly  impersonal  character  of  the  comments  shielded  the 
sensibilities  of  each  and  all.  I  found  this  club  a  barrier  against 
the  ‘  ‘  self-activity  ’  ’  that  in  my  own  student  days  had  led  me  to 
plan  escapades  just  for  the  novelty  of  doing  so,  and  that  to  have 
the  amusements  of  my  girls  going  forward  under  their  teachers’ 
eyes,  contributed  greatly  to  that  esprit  de  corps  which  is  the  first 
requisite  of  success  in  all  organized  effort  from  the  family  circle  to 
the  great  circle  of  nationality. 

I  believe  there  is  a  hint  here  for  our  “  Y societies  of  the 
white  ribbon,  and  so  will  copy  an  article  of  mine  from  The  Tri¬ 
pod,  in  my  day  our  college  paper  at  Evanston,  hoping  that  its 
hints  may  help  them  to  a  new  line  of  work  : 

Why  it  is  not  just  as  sensible  to  teach  good  manners  as  a  theory  and  art 
as  it  is  to  teach  singing,  I  can  not  understand.  In  a  democracy  like  ours 
good  manners  ought  to  be  a  branch  specially  attended  to  in  all  the  schools. 
"Especially  would  I  have  it  introduced  into  the  public  schools  and  continued 
throughout  the  course  of  study. 


After-  though  ts. 


217 


Suppose  the  perpetrators  of  the  “pudding-stick  fun,’’  to  which  we  were 
treated  in  Philomathean  Hall  the  other  evening,  had  been  trained  from 
the  pinafore-age  to  “  habits  of  good  society  ” — should  we  have  had  to  blush 
that  they  and  we  belonged  to  the  same  race  ? 

Americans  are  angular,  uncouth,  unkempt.  Nothing  is  more  palpably 
true  than  this.  A  French  gentleman  recently  exclaimed  after  an  interview 
with  a  high  official  in  our  state  who,  on  leaving  the  room,  turned  his  back 
to  the  company  :  “I  will  not  say  that.  American  men  have  bad  manners, 
but  I  will  say  that  they  have  no  manners  at  all.”  The  proofs  of  an  unculti¬ 
vated  origin  that  meet  us  on  every  street  corner  of  our  own  classic  towni 
are  beyond  enumeration.  The  “student’s  slang”  (not  to  mention  other 
varieties  !  )  salutes  our  ears  at  every  turn.  And  yet,  when  it  is  proposed  to 
teach  good  manners  as  one  would  any  other  art,  to  give  line  upon  line,  and 
precept  upon  precept,  and  to  illustrate  and  enforce  the  teaching  given  by 
practice  and  example,  many  people  have  only  weak  sarcasms  to  offer  by 
way  of  commentary. 

The  nped  of  some  such  teaching,  to  supplement  the  random  and  often 
nugatory  instructions  of  home,  finds  another  salient  illustration  in  the 
excuse  of  Christian  parents  for  sending  their  children  to  dancing-schools. 
“They  say  our  young  people  must  learn  ease  and  grace  of  deportment,  and 
become  familiar  with  the  etiquette  of  occasions,  so  that  no  social  entertain¬ 
ment  will  find  them  ill  at  ease.”  True  ;  and  it  must  be  confessed  that  the 
drill  of  the  dancing-school  renders  them  more  graceful  and  self-possessed. 
We  have  nothing  special  to  say  in  this  connection  of  the  harm  that  grows 
out  of  dancing  (not,  mark  you,  out  of  dancing  “in  itself f  any  more  than 
out  of  swallowing  brandy  “in  itself,  ”  but  in  its  associations  and  results). 
Read  Dr.  Bushnell’s  admirable  sermon  on  “Free  to  Plave  Amusements  :  But 
Too  Free  to  Want  Them,”  if  you  would  see  our  position  defined  at  length. 
Our  creed  is  clear  in  its  declarations  on  this  subject.  The  people  who  help 
the  world,  and  whose  names  are  praised  and  blessed  —  whose  memories 
yield  perennial  fragrance  and  form  the  examples  of  our  times  —  are  not  the 
people  who  have  excelled  in  polka  or  in  waltz.  But  aside  from  the  merits 
of  the  case,  there  are  large  numbers  of  Christian  people  who  send  their 
children  to  dancing-school  for  the  same  object  which  a  class  in  etiquette 
would  subserve  equally  well,  thus  removing  the  temptation  to  that  concern¬ 
ing  which  the  thoughtful  mater  familias  can  not  fail  to  have  misgivings. 

The  foregoing  are  “after-thoughts  ”  connected  with  the  pleasant  enter¬ 
tainment  given  at  the  Radies’  College,  on  a  recent  evening  by  the  “  Good 
Behavior  Club.”  This  organization,  numbering  nearly  forty  menibers,  has 
been  for  the  past  term  under  the  care  of  Miss  Smith,  of  Chicago,  teacher 
of  etiquette.  Miss  Smith  has  also  had  classes  in  the  Normal  University, 
the  Wesleyan  University,  at  Bloomington,  and  other  institutions.  President 
M.  speaks  in  the  highest  terms  of  her  success  in  the  institution  over  which 
he  presides,  where  a  large  class  of  young  gentlemen  and  ladies  has  been 
formed. 

As  for  the  entertainment  at  our  Radies’  College,  it  was  tasteful,  and  well 
conducted,  the  young  ladies  having  entire  charge  of  the  arrangements. 


218 


No  Utopian  Dream. 


Whatever  others  may  think,  the  experiment  is  a  success  here  ;  and  we 
congratulate  the  accomplished  young  lady  who  is  quietly  opening  to 
women  a  new*  and  attractive  employment,  and  to  students  an  added  op¬ 
portunity  to  learn  and  to  illustrate  “the  habits  of  good  society.” 

In  an  address  on  “  School  Government,”  before  the  Woman’s 
Congress,  New  York  City,  1872,  I  said  : 

And  this  brings  me  to  look  carefully  in  upon  that  model  home  once 
more,  to  find  the  system  of  government  that  shall  most  conduce  to  the  for¬ 
mation  of  genuine  character  in  our  young  people  at  school.  I  find  there 
very  few  fixed  rules,  and  that  the  continued  observance  of  these  by  the 
children  as  they  grow  older  depends  almost  wholly  upon  the  disposition  they 
display  as  they  advance  in  years.  I  find  that  the  noble,  trustworthy  boy 
and  girl  are  trusted,  the  deceitful  and  ignoble,  governed.  So  in  the  school 
I  simply  “go  and  do  likewise,”  applying  rules  to  the  unruly,  regulations  to 
the  irregular.  All  are  placed  under  a  system  of  restrictions  at  the  first,  the 
simplest  that  experience  pronounces  safe,  and  many  find  it  impossible  to 
work  their  way  up  through  these  to  the  bracing  heights  of  self-control.  I 
open  a  “character  bank,”  of  which  the  faculty  act  as  “directors,”  in  which 
the  “deposit”  is  reputation,  of  which  each  student  may  accumulate  as 
much  as  he  will,  and  on  which  he  may  freely  draw,  his  paper  being  honored 
at  sight  and  discounted  only  when  his  debit  exceeds  his  balance  on  the 
books.  Self-government  is  then  the  noble  possibility  of  each,  the  eagerly 
sought  goal  of  every  student,  and  the  exemplars  of  the  school  are  the 
“tried  and  true  ”  of  whom  it  is  openly  declared  that  “unto  such  there  is  no 
law  ”  or,  to  put  the  point  with  more  decision,  “  they  are  not  under  the  law, 
but  under  grace.”  I  know  these  are' advanced  positions,  but  I  beg  you  to 
believe  they  are  not  the  result  of  dreamy  theorizing,  nor  the  mirage  of  an 
un visited  Utopia. 

Between  the  first  and  second  evening  study  hours,  we  had  a 
prayer-meeting  of  fifteen  minutes  in  a  teacher’s  room.  This  was 
perfectly  voluntary,  but  overwhelmingly  attended.  I  can  hear 
yet  those  clear  young  voices,  singing 

‘  Rock  of  ages,  cleft  for  me, 

Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee. 

» 

***** 

In  my  hand  no  price  I  bring, 

Simply  to  Thy  cross  I  cling.” 

How  little  did  I  dream  that  erelong  I,  who  loved  it  now  so 
well,  should  gain  new  love  for  it,  and  that  the  '‘Crusade,” 
undreamed  of  then,  would  bring  the  ‘‘arrest  of  thought”  to 


Art  and  Composition  Classes. 


219 


these  dear  girls  and  to  me.  Of  temperance  I  never  spoke,  tak¬ 
ing  it  for  granted  that  all  was  well.  Now  and  then,  when  espe¬ 
cially  “worn  out,”  I  would  take  a  little  of  mother’s  currant 
wine  ;  011  the  last  winter  of  my  teaching,  Dr.  Jewell,  one  of  the 
leaders  in  our  Sunday-school,  ordered  a  keg  of  beer  into  my 
cellar,  of  which  I  drank  a  nauseating  glass  at  dinner,  rebelling 
at  every  dose,  experiencing  no  benefit,  and  abjuring  it  forever 
when  the  blessed  Crusade  wrought  its  miracle  upon  our  hearts.  I 
then  introduced  temperance  themes  to  my  classes,  one  and  all,  as 
mentioned  in  tiie  temperance  chapters  of  this  chronicle.  A  mis¬ 
sionary  society  was  organized  in  the  college,  cooperating  with  the 
local  auxiliary  of  the  Methodist  church  at  Evanston. 

I  had  all  the  young  ladies  (numbering  several  hundred)  in 
my  English  composition  classes.  One  feature  that  was  attractive 
to  them  was  reporting  for  the  Chicago  and  Evanston  papers,  for 
which  I  arranged,  so  far  as  practicable,  and  with  good  results. 

In  teaching  my  art  class  at  the  college,  I  availed  myself  of 
my  friend  Kate’s  remarkably  fine  selection  of  photographs  and 
stereoscopic  views,  numbering  about  eight  hundred,  including  all 
the  leading  places  that  we  saw  in  our  long  trip  abroad.  Many  of 
these  I  had  produced  on  glass  so  that  they  could  be  thrown  on 
the  screen  of  the  stereopticon,  and  described  to  the  entire  class  at 
once.  It  was  my  earnest  hope  that,  after  I  had  taught  the  theory 
and  history  of  the  fine  arts  for  a  few  years,  I  might  be  able  to 
prepare  a  text-book  that  would  be  used  generally  in  schools  and 
would  furnish  the  introduction,  of  which  I  so  much  felt  the  need, 
to  a  study  of  the  European  galleries  and  of  art  in  our  own  land. 

It  was  my  wont  to  open  or  close  my  recitations  with  a  few 
words  of  prayer,  and  I  could  feel  the  lofty  spirit  thus  imparted 
to  teacher  and  to  pupils. 

Good  Mrs.  Van  Cott  came  to  Evanston  this  first  year  of  the 
new  college  (1871-72)  and  no  one  present  will  ever  forget  the 
scene  in  the  college  parlors  when,  with  illuminated  countenance, 
she  talked  of  God  and  sang  with  us  her  favorite  hymn  : 

“  Come,  Holy  Spirit,  heavenly  Dove, 

With  all  Thy  quickening  powers, 

Kindle  a  flame  of  sacred  love 
In  these  cold  hearts  of  ours.” 

Then  she  placed  her  kind  hands  on  every  head  as  going 


220 


The  First  “  Woman's  Commencement .” 


around  that  large  circle  she  asked  a  blessing  upon  each  and  all. 
The  revival  that  followed  was  the  most  memorable  ever  known 
in  Evanston,  and  all  my  girls  but  two -one  of  whom  was  a 
Catholic,  and  a  very  good  Christian,  by  the  way  — became  mem¬ 
bers  of  the  church.  Among  all  the  noble  girls  whom  I  had  the 
happiness  to  see  kneeling  at  the  altar,  none  rejoiced  me  quite  so 
much  as  my  brilliant  Belle  Webb,  who  had  fancied  herself  an  in¬ 
fidel,  but  who  from  that  time  steadily  developed  Christian  char¬ 
acter  throughout  her  six  years’  classical  course,  and  is  now  with 
her  gifted  husband,  Rev.  Dr.  Edward  Parks,  connected  with 

the  Methodist  University,  in  Atlanta,  Ga. 

The  Senior  class  bequeathed  us  by  Professor  Jones  was  the 
only  one,  up  to  the  date  of  its  graduation  (1872),  whose  diplo¬ 
mas  were  conferred  by  women.  I  think  at  Wellesley,  during 
the  administration  of  President  Alice  Freeman,  this  was  done, 
as  also  at  Rockford  (Ill.)  Seminary  by  Miss  Hillard  — now 
Mrs.  McLeish  —  a  Vassar  graduate  and  teacher. 

It  was  a  noteworthy  circumstance  that  at  our  first  Commence¬ 
ment  a  woman  gave  the  baccalaureate  sermon,  Mrs.  J.  P.  W  illing, 
the  same  who,  two  years  later,  presided  over  the  first  conven¬ 
tion  of  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  At  my  suggestion  our  women 
trustees  voted  her  the  title  of  A.  M.  I  shall  never  forget  the 
beautiful  appearance  of  our  new  church  at  Evanston,  bedecked 
for  this  “  Woman’s  Commencement  ” — words  significant  in  many 
ways.  Only  the  basement  was  finished,  but  it  was  endeared  to 
us  by  the  services  of  Mrs.  Van  Cott,  and  as  I  stood  there  under 
the  beautiful  arch  of  evergreen,  conferring  the  diplomas  on  my 
six  charming  seniors,  the  scene  recalled,  by  contrast,  the  laying 
of  Heck  Hall’s  corner-stone  only  six  years  before,  when  my  gal¬ 
lant  friend,  Rev.  Dr.  J.  S.  Smart,  read  in  sonorous  tones  the 
address  I  had  composed,  but  lacked  courage  to  pronounce. 

This  was  my  first  presiding  on  a  momentous  public  occasion, 
and  in  looking  over  the  data  for  the  present  history  I  came  upon 
the  handsome  printed  program  of  that  Commencement  ceremony. 
For  the  benefit  of  other  on-coming  presidents  among  women,  I 
will  divulge  the  fact  that  what  I  was  to  say  was  all  written  out 
inside  that  program,  and  the  memorandum  read  as  follows  : 

(Preliminary.)  There  is  a  time-honored  request  “  made  and  provided 
for  occasions  like  the  present,  which  must  be  reiterated,  I  suppose,  at  this 
time,  or  “Commencement”  will  be  shorn  of  a  cherished  prerogative. 


The  Great  Chicago  Fire . 


221 


It  is  my  duty,  then,  to  remind  our  intelligent  and  thoughtful  friends 
that  we  are  in  a  church ,  and  that,  however  much  the  eloquence  of  our  grad¬ 
uating  class  may  unfit  you  to  carry  out  the  terms  of  the  treaty,  it  is,  never¬ 
theless,  expressly  stipulated  between  us  that  no  ruder  method  of  applause 
shall  strike  our  ears  than  the  mild  concussion  of  manly  palms  or  the 
fragrant  breath  of  the  ever-welcome  bouquet. 

********„* 

(On  gi\ ing  the  medal  for  good  manners.)  A  word  in  explanation 
of  the  intention  of  this  award.  It  does  not  imply  loyalty  to  school 
regulations  (though  the  young  lady  who  receives  it  has  not  been  once 
reproved  for  word  or  act  during  the  entire  year)  ;  it  refers,  rather,  to  the 
minor  moralities,  the  “small,  sweet  courtesies”  of  life;  to  habitudes  of 
gentle  speech  and  graceful,  kindly  action  ;  to  that  nameless  charm  of 
manner  which  springs  not  alone  from  a  kind ,  but  from  a  cultured  heart  and 
brain.  While  it  affords  me  profound  pleasure  thus  to  decorate  Miss  Pat¬ 
terson,  I  beg  you  to  believe  that  a  vast  amount  of  embodied  good  manners 
stdl  remains  undecorated  among  “  our  girls.” 

********** 

Immediately  after  these  exercises  there  will  be  a  receptfcm  at  the 
Ladies’  College,  to  which  the  Board  of  Trustees  and  officers  of  the  College 
cordially  invite  all  our  patrons  and  friends  from  abroad,  as  well  as  those 
residing  here,  also  the  faculties,  alumni  and  students  of  all  the  institu¬ 
tions  here. 

Please  consider  the  invitation  general ,  cordial  and  emphatic. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Annie  Webster,  by  the  authority  of  the  Board  of  Trustees  of 
Evanston  College  for  Ladies,  I  con’fer  upon  you  the  degree  of  Laureate  of 
Liberal  Arts,  and  in  testimony  thereof  I  present  you  this  diploma.  By  the 
same  authority,  I  confer  upon  you  (five)  each  the  Degree  of  Laureate  of 
Science,  and  in  testimony  thereof,  I  present  you  these  diplomas. 

My  dear  young  ladies,  you  have  now  received  from  your  young  Alma 
Mater  the  first  honors  she  has  given.  May  He  who  is  the  strength  of  all 
who  trust  in  Him,  help  you  to  fulfill  the  bright  promise  of  this  hour.  Fare¬ 
well  ! 

In  the  midst  of  this  first  school  year  occurred  that  terrible 
calamity,  the  Chicago  fire.  We  were  sitting  at  breakfast  in  Rest 
Cottage,  on  Monday  morning,  October  8,  1871,  when  a  neighbor 
came  in  and  said,  “  Did  you  know  that  Chicago  is  burned  up?  ’ ’ 
We  thought  the  lady  joking,  but  her  grave  face  belied  the  sup¬ 
position. 

“Yes,  burned  up,”  she  continued,  “Court-house  and  all.” 
We  rose  with  one  impulse  and  went  into  the  beautiful,  quiet 
street.  It  was  more  quiet  than  ever — business  seemed  sus¬ 
pended,  no  man  was  to  be  seen.  A  dull,  dun-colored  atmos- 


222 


Ruined  Fortunes ,  but  Brave  Hearts. 


phere  settled,  over  us  as  the  day  wore  on  ;  its  odor  was  peculiar, 
composite,  and  stifling,  a  total  contrast  to  the  pleasant,  earthy 
smell  of  the  prairie  fires  to  which  my  childhood  was  accustomed. 
At  ten  o’clock  the  young  ladies  composing  my  class  in  moral 
philosophy  came  to  recite.  They  brought  me  tidings  of  stone 
houses  crumbling  like  cardboard  in  the  fierce  heat ;  of  the  entire 
business  heart  of  the  city  taken  out ;  of  the  homeless,  famished 
ones,  many  of  them  now  on  their  way  to  Evanston,  whither  they 
fled,  with  the  flames  on  their  track.  The  awful  situation  en¬ 
grossed  us  altogether ;  lessons  were  not  to  be  thought  of,  and 
we  all  knelt  in  prayer  to  God  for  the  friendless  and  forsaken. 

Eater,  the  rumor  came  that  the  fire  had  gained  such  head¬ 
way  it  was  possible  that  it  might  come  on  through  twelve  miles 
of  woods  and  fields  to  Evanston.  Absurd  as  such  a  supposition 
seemed,  the  panic  was  sufficient  to  set  men  plowing  furrows  of  de¬ 
fense,  \^Jiile  a  corps  of  students  was  fitted  out  with  buckets  of 
water  and  told  to  stand  on  guard  between  our  peaceful  village 
and  the  fiery  foe  !  A  committee  of  safety  was  organized  and 
we  were  told  to  be  ready  to  entertain  any  refugees  that  might  be 
sent  us.  Kate  Jackson  was  keeping  our  house  then,  and  in  her 
busy,  Martha-like  fashion  she  hurried  to  grocery  store,  market 
and  coal-dealer  that  we  might  be  fitted  out  in  a  manner  suitable 
to  the  hard  fortunes  we  would  alleviate.  We  went  to  the  evening 
train  at  six  o’clock  and  such  a  sight  I  never  saw.  Our  well- 
favored,  tailor-dressed  business  men  crawled  off  the  cars,  ragged 
as  cinders  and  black  as  chimney-sweeps.  Their  eyes  were  red 
with  involuntary  tears  called  out  by  smoke,  not  by  their  gigantic 
losses,  for  the  ChL^te^  man  never  bates  a  jot  of  heart  or  hope. 
Now  and  then  there  was  one  who  had  not  lost,  and  the  rest  would 
pound  him  on  the  back  in  boisterous  play,  shouting,  “String 
him  up  to  a  telegraph  pole  ! — what  right  has  he  not  to  be  ruined 
with  the  rest  ?  ’  ’  Men  and  women  were  loaded  down  with  bas¬ 
kets  of  silver,  boxes  of  valuable  papers,  household  relics,  and  the 
like. 

We  had  no  guests,  after  all  ;  the  distance  was  too  great  for 
those  who  walked,  and  most  of  those  who  came  by  cars  went 
to  their  friends.  Several  persons  brought  baskets  of  precious 
things,  however,  asking  us  to  keep  until  called  for. 

Thousands  camped  on  the  prairie  near  the  city  that  night, 


A  Heroine . 


223 


and  little  babies  were  born,  and  the  sick  moaned  helplessly  under 
the  wide,  calm  heavens.  At  midnight  the  fire  was  burning  so 
brilliantly  that  standing  on  our  piazza  I  could  distinctly  read  my 
fine-print  Testament. 

The  fire  began  at  9:30  on  the  evening  of  Sunday,  October  8, 
and  ended  about  ten  o’clock  Tuesday  morning,  lasting  through 
thirty-six  horrible  hours.  It  covered  an  area  of  three  miles  in 
length  by  one  and  a  half  miles  in  breadth,  or  two  thousand  one 
hundred  acres.  The  number  of  buildings  destroyed  was  about 
seventeen  thousand  ;  of  people  rendered  homeless,  ninety-eight 
thousand.  Of  these,  about  thirty  thousand  left  the  city  and 
about  fifty-five  thousand  were  fed  by  charity.  It  is  estimated 
that  about  two  hundred  persons  lost  their  lives,  and  over  two 
hundred  million  dollars’  worth  of  property  was  destroyed.  The 
cow-barn  on  DeKoven  street,  where  a  frightened  bovine  kicked 
over  a  kerosene  lamp,  started  this  greatest  conflagration  of  all 
history. 

I  have  hardly  heard  a  more  heroic  story  of  this  unmatched 
calamity  than  that  of  Ina  Coolidge,  one  of  my  pupils.  On  the 
day  before  the  fire  I  had  gone  with  her  to  the  city  Eye  Infirmary, 
Dr.  Annie  Reid  being  with  us,  and  a  skilled  hand  had  operated  on 
one  of  Miss  Coolidge’ s  eyes  for  strabismus.  The  quiet  way  in 
which  she  laid  her  little  form  down  on  the  operating  table, 
crossed  her  hands  in  prayer  and  submitted  to  the  anaesthetic  ; 
the  bright  look  when  she  said,  “  Oh,  Miss  Willard,  we  girls  are 
all  in  heaven  and  you  are  the  center  of  our  band  !  ’  ’  have  always 
remained  with  me,  since  they  brought  the  tears  to  my  eyes  as  I 
stood  by  her  side.  The  flowing  blood  and  bandaged  eyes — both 
bandaged,  so  that  she  was  helpless — were  pitiful  to  see.  We 
sent  her  to  the  Sherman  House  with  her  trusty  room-mate. 
There  they  were  to  stay  for  a  few  days,  but  that  night  came  the 
awful  conflagration,  and  the  hotel  was  just  in  its  path.  My  pupil 
said  the  scene  was  terrible,  with  screaming  women  and  cursing 
men,  nobody  willing  to  help  another  ;  people  and  trunks  bump¬ 
ing  their  way  along  the  stairs,  while  din  of  bells  and  puff  of  fire- 
engines  made  up  a  horrid  orchestra.  I11  all  this  the  blindfolded 
girl  never  once  lost  her  equipoise  of  mind.  She  would  not  take 
the  bandage  from  her  eyes,  but  waited  till  the  scampering  crowd 
was  well-nigh  gone,  took  her  room-mate  by  the  hand,  and  the  two 


224 


Colossal  Rums. 


girls  started  out  alone.  Slie  noted  the  quarter  from  which  came 
the  wind  and  roar  of  flames,  and  away  they  sped  through  the 
livid  inferno,  not  knowing,  in  that  strange  city,  what  direction 
they  had  taken  until,  hours  afterward,  they  found  themselves  at 
the  Milwaukee  depot,  on  the  West  Side,  and  the  next  day,  while 
we  were  in  breathless  anxiety  about  them,  they  appeared  climb¬ 
ing  the  college  stairs  at  Evanston  ! 

All  the  newspaper  offices  were  burned,  but  I  remember  the 
Evening  Mail ,  with  which  my  brother  was  soon  after  connected, 
and  all  the  other  dailies,  soon  came  out  as  usual,  looking  primi¬ 
tive  as  the  frontier.  We  found  Oliver  and  his  friend  Hobart  in 
a  downright  “  piney-wood  shanty,”  a  few  days  afterward,  work¬ 
ing  away  at  a  drygoods-box  table  with  all  the  importance  of 
Chicago  editors  who  had  survived.  I  took  my  mother  and  several 
wagon  loads  of  my  pupils  to  see  the  ruins, — that  being  for  some 
time  the  chief  occupation  of  suburbaners.  Tolerably  familiar 
though  I  was  with  “the  wreck  of  time”  in  Egypt,  Palestine 
and  at  Baalbec,  these  were  the  most  colossal  ruins  I  had  ever 
seen.  The  towering  fragments,  smouldering  embers,  charred 
trees  and  half  lifted  smoke-cloud  ;  the  groups  of  men  and  women, 
roaming  about  as  if  bewildered,  or  delving  into  the  heaps  of  debris 
that  covered  their  pulverized  homes  and  melted  hearthstones  ; 
and,  in  awful  contrast,  the  sparkling  waters  of  the  great  lake 
stretching  before  us  in  mocking  uselessness  and  selfish  secu¬ 
rity — the  only  thing  unchanged  —  made  up  a  picture  the  most 
frightful  that  my  eyes  have  mirrored. 

But  with  a  wish  to  see  some  smile  of  hope  across  the  black¬ 
ness,  I  asked  my  girls  to  take  The  Greatest  Conflagration  as  a  sub¬ 
ject  of  debate,  one  side  advocating  the  view  that  good  was  to 
come  out  of  it.  I  think  we  were  first  in  the  field  for  the  opti¬ 
mistic  view  now  generally  accepted,  and  so  far  realized  that  when 
I  welcomed  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  to  Farwell  Hall,  just  six 
years  afterward,  I  was  able  to  say  to  them,  with  all  the  pride  of 
a  Chicago  suburbaner : 

You  will  see  for  yourselves  our  parks  and  boulevards,  tlie  palaces  in 
which  we  transact  our  business,  and  lodge  our  travelers  ;  the  costly  churches 
where  we  worship,  and  the  costly  mansions  in  which  our  money-kings 
are  wTont  to  eat  and  sleep.  As  you  drive  along  our  streets,  a  vacant  lot  here 
and  there,  a  heap  of  shattered  stones,  a  bit  of  charred  pavement  will  be 


Beauty  from  Ashes. 


225 


shown  you  as  the  only  remaining  traces  of  that  city  of  stone  that  in  a  night 
became  a  city  of  ashes,  and  six  years  later  gleamed  forth  a  city  of  marble. 

That  fire  touched  humanity’s  heart,  and  endeared  our  smitten 
city  to  the  whole  tvorld.  Sailors  have  told  me  that  at  the 
farthest  point  of  the  Aleutian  Islands,  they  found  that  most  of 
the  natives  knew  three  English  words — Victoria,  a  dollar,  and 
Chicago. 


15 


CHAPTER  X. 


WHY  I  LEFT  THE  UNIVERSITY. 

That  fire  changed  the  outlook  of  our  college.  Its  hot  breath 
shriveled  our  generous  Fourth  of  July  subscription  list,  impov¬ 
erishing  some  of  our  most  trusty  friends  and  obliging  us  to  cover 
up  the  newly-laid  foundations  of  our  great  building.  We  furled 
our  sails  and  went  scudding  as  best  we  could  before  the  blast. 
The  year  1872  witnessed  the  election  of  Rev.  Dr.  Haven  as  Sec¬ 
retary  of  the  Board  of  Education  of  the  M.  E.  Church,  and  his 
change  of  residence  to  New  York  City.  And  there  rose  up  as 
his  successor  one  who  “  knew  not  Joseph.” 

Rev.  Dr.  C.  H.  Fowler  (now  Bishop),  a  man  of  brilliant 
gifts,  came  to  us  from  the  pastorate,  never  having  taught  at  all, 
unless  very  briefly  in  district  school  when  a  student  in  college. 
His  concept  of  the  situation  was  totally  different  from  that  of  Dr. 
Haven  with  his  long  experience  in  the  work  of  higher  education. 

To  go  into  the  details  of  this  most  painful  period  of  my 
whole  life  is  not  my  purpose.  Suffice  it  that  the  bone  of  conten¬ 
tion  was  the  relations  of  the  Evanston  College  for  Eadies  to  the 
Northwestern  University.  Dr.  Haven’s  plan,  indorsed  by  the 
University  trustees,  was  as  follows: 

We  would  recommend  that  all  ypung  women  receiving  instruction  in 
the  University,  be  requested  to  enroll  themselves  as  members  of  the  Evans¬ 
ton  College  for  Ladies  *  *  *  *  and  that  the  young  women  be  under 

the  moral  oversight  of  the  faculty,  of  the  Ladies’  College. 

But  the  new  president  held  that  the  University  faculty  of  men 
was  the  final  authority  in  everything  pertaining  to  those  who  re¬ 
ceived  instruction  there.  Hence,  when  a  young  woman  preferred 
not  to  take  lessons  in  penmanship  (required  of  all  under  our 
care)  ;  when  she  fell  from  the  Roll  of  Honor  list,  or  for  any  reason 

desired  to  go  outside  our  college  building  and  thus  be  free  from 

(226) 


In  a  Quandary . 


227 


all  restrictions  except  sucli  as  related  to  her  recitations  at  the 
University,  or  its  Preparatory  department,  the  new  president  said 
she  might  go,  and  still  be  in  good  standing  so  far  as  those  classes 
were  concerned,  when  the  old  president  would  have  said  she 
must  do  as  the  women’s  faculty  thought  best.  This  was  the  “  rift 
in  the  lute  ” ;  it  was  a  readjustment  that  removed  the  center  of 
gravity  outside  the  base  so  far  as  the  Evanston  College  for  Eadies 
was  concerned,  and  introduced  so  much  friction  into  our  educa¬ 
tional  machinery  that,  perceiving  the  impossibility  of  going  on 
another  year  under  the  same  disadvantages,  I  strongly  advocated 
what  the  new  president  favored,  viz.,  such  a  union  of  the  two 
institutions  as  would  make  their  interests  identical. 

A  principle  which  I  always  tried  to  inculcate  in  the  minds  of 
my  girls  was  this- — a  sentiment  of  true  honor  and  dignity  favors 
the  school  not  the  delinquent.  How  is  it  in  society  ?  Every 
noble  man  brings  rogues  to  justice.  He  never  dreams  of  shield¬ 
ing  them,  yet  pupils  think  it  honorable  to  shield  each  other.  And 
I  had  myself  the  same  absurd  idea  during  a  part  of  my  years  at 
school,  but  it  is  a  sediment  of  barbarous  ages  wherein,  espionage 
took  the  place  of  free  government.  What  I  urged  most  in  the 
basis  between  the  College  and  the  University  was  that  the  Univer¬ 
sity  trustees  should  reaffirm  the  action  which  made  all  young 
women  members  of  the  Woman’s  College,  and  that  the  University 
faculty  should  do  this  with  such  minutiae  of  legislation  as  would 
relieve  the  Woman’s  College  from  all  embarrassment,  making  our 
faculty  responsible  for  the  young  women  in  all  cases  save  when 
they  were  in  the  recitation  room. 

In  my  annual  report  to  its  board  of  trustees,  as  president  of 
the  Evanston  College  for  Eadies,  I  said  (June,  1873)  : 

The  general  policy  during  the  first  year  of  the  college  was  frequently 
expressed  by  Doctor  Haven  in  terms  like  these  : 

“I  wish  the  Ladies’  College  to  be  responsible  for  all  the  lady  students 
in  everything  ;  but  their  recitations,  so  far  as  advantageous  to  them,  will  be 
with  us,  and  when  they  pursue  our  courses  of  study  they  will  receive  our 
diploma.” 

But  the  practical  workings  of  the  school  this  year  indicate  a  different 
view  of  the  subject,  and  it  is  necessary  to  the  harmony  we  all  desire  to  main¬ 
tain  that  the  question  be  settled. 

Will  you,  therefore,  please  detail,  with  as  much  minuteness  as  possible, 
the  duties  of  the  president  of  your  college  toward  the  young  ladies  whose 


228 


Contract  Between  University  and  College. 


names  are  placed  upon  its  register,  stating  wherein  they  are  amenable  to  her 
authority,  and  wherein  they  are  not  ? 

For  my  own  part,  unless  I  am  thoroughly  self-deceived,  I  desire  “the 
greatest  numbers’  greatest  good  ”  ;  and  I  earnestly  seek  such  a  solution  of  the 
problem,  which  I  now  present  to  you,  as  shall  most  directly  tend  to  fulfill 
the  hopes  and  expectations  of  those  who  have  stood  by  our  enterprise  from 
the  beginning.  But  I  frankly  acknowledge  that  I  can  not,  with  self-respect, 
longer  sustain  relations  so  undignified  as  the  last  few  months  have  witnessed. 

I  have  no  aspersions  to  make  against  any  one.  We  have  simply  arrived 
by  a  rather  circuitous  route,  but  a  no  less  certain  6ne,  at  the  logical  sequence 
of  relationships  too  dimly  outlined  at  the  beginning. 

To  your  combined  wisdom,  energy  and  prudence,  I  submit  questions 
with  which  I  have  been  loth  to  burden  you,  but  writh  which  I  can  no  longer 
contend  alone. 

I  have  great  confidence  in  the  power  of  a  free  and  kindly  interchange 
of  sentiment  between  the  authorities  of  the  two  institutions  to  set  these 
questions  at  rest,  and  to  develop  a  policy  which  shall  render  their  harmoni¬ 
ous  interworking  practicable. 

Let  me  add  a  single  sentence  from  an  article  written  by  Dr.  E.  O.  Haven, 
in  The  Methodist ,  in  which  he  gave  an  outline  of  our  plans.  He  says  : 

“  It  is  our  intention  to  show  that  ‘  opening  a  university  to  women  ’  and 
‘giving  ladies  an  equal  chance  with  gentlemen,’  means  something  more 
than  to  control  a  university  wholly  by  men,  select  courses  of  study  fitted  only 
to  men,  give  instruction  mostly  by  men,  and  then,  forsooth,  ‘  open  the  doors 
alike  to  both  sexes.  ’  ” 

0 

Let  me,  finally,  put  myself  upon  the  record,  as  not  at  all  unfriendly  to  a 
closer  union  between  the  two  schools,  providing  always  that  the  advance 
positions  we  have  gained  for  woman  be  not  sacrificed. 

We  represent  the  most  progressive  educational  movement  of  the  world’s 
most  progressive  age,  and  timorous  as  well  as  weak  should  we  prove  our¬ 
selves,  did  we  surrender  the  trusts  of  which  Providence  has  made  us 
the  depositories. 

EVANSTON  COLLEGE  FOR  LADIES  UNITES  WITH  NORTHWESTERN 

UNIVERSITY. 

An  agreement  was  now  made  to  this  effect  : 

In  consideration  of  having  turned  over  to  it  all  the  property 
of  the  Evanston  College  for  Ladies,  the  Northwestern  University 
agreed  to  assume  all  financial  obligations  of  said  college,  to  com¬ 
plete  its  building  and  maintain  the  institution  on  a  basis  of  which 
the  principal  features  were  the  following  : 

The  party  of  the  first  part  (University  Trustees)  further  covenants  to 
maintain  in  all  future  time  a  representation  of  women  in  the  Board  of 
Trustees  of  the  Northwestern  University  of  not  less,  at  any  time,  than  five  ; 
and  ii#the  Executive  Committee  of  the  Board  of  Trustees  of  the  party  of 
the  first  part  there  shall  always  be,  at  least,  one  woman,  if  the  women  of 


Dean  and  Professor. 


229 


the  Board  shall  so  require  ;  and  provision  shall  also  be  made,  by  the  party 
of  the  first  part,  for  an  Advisory  Committee  of  women,  to  be  appointed  by 
the  Board  of  Trustees  of  the  party  of  the  second  part,  to  confer  with  the 
Executive  Committee  on  all  matters  of  interest  to  the  party  of  the  second 
part  hereafter,  and  the  chairman  of  this  committee  shall  always  be  received 
at  the  sessions  of  the  Executive  Committee  of  the  Northwestern  University  ; 
and  the  party  of  the  first  part  shall  also  elect  a  woman  to  the  presiding 
office  of  the  Woman’s  College  as  annexed  to  or  affiliated  with  the  party  6f 
the  first  part,  with  the  title  of  “  Dean,”  who  shall  be  a  member  of  the  Fac¬ 
ulty  of  the  University.  And  the  party  of  the  first  part  shall  elect  at  least 
one  woman  to  a  Professorship  in  the  University,  and  this  perpetually  ;  and 
shall  also  confer  degrees  and  diplomas  on  the  students  of  the  said  Woman’s 
College  entitled  thereto,  and  this  in  the  name  of  the  Trustees  and  the  Fac¬ 
ulty  of  the  University  ;  and  shall  also  maintain  the  same  friendly  relations 
now  existing  between  the  Woman’s  Educational  Association  and  the  party 
of  the  second  part  (Evanston  College  for  Ladies),  and  keep  up  the  same  as 
between  the  said  Woman’s  College  and  the  said  party  of  the  first  part,  so 
far  as  is  consistent  with  the  charter  of  the  University. 

And  in  consideration  of  each  and  all  of  the  matters  aforesaid,  the  said 
party  of  the  second  part  has  this  day  assigned,  granted  and  conveyed  to  the 
party  of  the  first  part,  all  its  property,  real  and  personal,  together  with  all 
its  choses  in  action,  moneys  and  subscriptions  set  forth  and  enumerated  in 
a  schedule  hereto  attached,  and  hath  agreed  and  covenanted  and  doth 
hereby  agree  and  covenant  to  change  its  present  corporate  name  to  that  of 
Woman’s  College  of  the  Northwestern  University,”  etc.,  etc. 

A  method  was  also  provided  by  which,  should  the  University 
trustees  fail  to  carry  out  the  contract,  the  trustees  of  the  Evans¬ 
ton  College  for  Ladies  could  obtain  redress. 

One  year  more  was  invested  in  an  unavailing  effort  to  make 
the  Woman’s  College  and  the  University  keep  time  together. 
Charles  V.  had  not  more  trouble  in  his  fameus  effort  to  make  two 
watches  do  the  same  ! 

Having  been  elected  Professor  of  ^Esthetics  in  the  University, 
I  heard  my  recitations  in  the  president’s  room  of  the  University 
building.  It  was  entirely  a  new  thing  to  the  students  to  recite  to 
ladies,  my  friend,  Kate  Jackson,  having  all  the  French  classes  in 
the  University,  while  I  had  part  of  the  English  composition. 
They  tested  us  in  various  ways.  One  day  on  entering,  I  saw 
written  on  the  blackboard,  “Miss  Willard  runs  the  Freshman 
like  a  pack  of  girls.”  Without  admitting  by  word  or  look  that 
I  had  seen  the  flattering  sentence,  I  went  to  the  blackboard 
behind  my  desk,  and  while  with  one  hand  I  erased  it,  with  the 
other  I  was  looking  into  my  note-book  for  illustrations  of  differ- 


230 


Crude  Pranks  of  Young  Collegians. 


ent  rhetorical  styles,  and  sending  the  young  men  to  the  black¬ 
boards  around  the  room  each  to  write  out  a  specimen  sentence. 

Another  time  they  entombed  a  howling  cat  in  the  large  drawer 
of  my  desk,  and  its  orchestral  accompaniment  did  not  intermit 
one  moment  during  the  hour  of  my  recitation,  but  if  ever  any 
one  had  the  appearance  of  being  stone-deaf  I  think  I  may  claim 
to  have  been  the  person  and  this  the  occasion. 

Their  last  attempt  was  on  this  wise  :  The  recitation  room 
door  began  to  creak  vigorously,  the  weather  being  damp.  A 
young  man  would  enter  the  class  a  minute  late,  open  the  door 
the  whole  arc  of  its  liberty,  and  close  it  carefully  while  the 
squeaky  creak  went  on,  disturbing  us  not  a  little.  The  moment 
he  had  taken  his  seat,  another  young  man  just  a  minute  later 
would  open  the  door,  enter,  and  close  it  in  the  same  percussive 
manner,  and  so  on  until  a  dozen,  perhaps,  came  in  —  there  were 
no  more  mischievous  ones  in  my  large  class  of  seventy.  I  made 
no  comment,  went  on  with  the  class  as  best  I  could,  but  that 
night  a  trusty  student  who  was  working  for  his  board  at  Rest 
Cottage,  was  armed  with  a  lantern,  a  piece  of  soap  and  the  key 
to  that  recitation  room,  and  he  so  limbered  up  those  hinges 
that  there  was  quite  a  surprised  look  on  the  faces  of  the  boys 
when  next  day  the  door  swung  to  and  fro  as  if  on  velvet  instead 
of  iron. 

I  was  reminded  of  these  occurrences  in  the  anteroom  of 
Moody’s  great  tabernacle  in  Boston,  where  I  spoke  one  Sunday 
afternoon  in  1877  to  five  thousand  people  or  more.  Some  excel¬ 
lent  ladies  who  accompanied  me  said  in  anxiety  when  I  was  about 
to  go  before  the  audience,  “Aren't  you  frightened?  Doesn’t 
it  make  your  heart  beat  faster  to  step  out,  one  lone  woman  in 
sight  of  that  great  amphitheater?’’  And  it  came  instantly  to 
my  mind  to  reply,  “You  never  taught  the  Freshman  class  in 
Northwestern  University  or  you  would  not  expect  one  who  has 
done  that  to  be  frightened  at  anything.”  To  me  an  audience  is 
like  a  well-bred  person,  quiet,  attentive,  sympathetic,  and,  best  of 
all,  not  in  a  position  to  answer  back  !  In  all  of  these  particu¬ 
lars  it  is  the  diametrical  opposite  of  a  lot  of  roystering  youths 
who  never  before  recited  to  a  lady  teacher  and  who  are  trying  her 
mettle  and  their  own.  I  ought  to  say,  however,  that  the  large 
majority  were  gentlemen  and  brothers,  whom  I  recall  with  the 


The  Method  of  “ Self-Government  ”  Disapproved.  231 


kindest  remembrance  and  in  many  cases  with  sisterly  affection 
because  of  their  manly  considerateness  toward  me  in  those  dif¬ 
ficult  days. 

In  the  meanwhile,  however,  my  system  of  self-government 
had  fallen  into  ‘  ‘  desuetude  ’  ’  that  did  not  seem  to  me  to  be  “  innoc¬ 
uous.”  The  new  executive  did  not  consider  it  compatible  with 
the  dignity  of  the  great  institution  wherein  our  Woman’s  College 
was  but  a  minor  fraction.  Some  attempts  to  revive  it  in  a  modified 
form  failed  to  meet  the  exigency  that  now  came  upon  us,  for  the 
lease  of  Professor  Jones’s  school  building  having  expired,  our 
girls  boarded  in  the  village  during  two  thirds  of  my  last  year. 
A  “self-report”  was  then  devised  to  be  filled  out  by  them  in 
writing.  But  it  caused  great  dissatisfaction,  the  young  men 
students,  who  were  not  under  rules,  being  particularly  hostile  to 
this  device  which  was  only  intended  to  tide  us  over  the  complex 
difficulties  of  a  woman’s  college  that  was  “all  about  town.” 
When  the  spring  term  of  1874  opened,  the  new  college  being 
ready  for  occupancy,  we  moved  into  its  spacious  rooms  and  I 
believed,  and  do  believe  to-day,  that  if  the  internal  management 
had  been  left  with  the  ladies’  faculty  there,  we  could  have  restored 
the  good  order  and  good  feeling  that  were  the  chief  features  of 
that  single,  bright,  untrammeled  year — 1871-72.  But,  our  chief 
now  took  the  ground  that  the  young  women  would  get  on  very 
well  with  very  little  supervision,  and  I,  who  had  thought  myself 
an  emancipator  of  college  girls,  saw  myself  designated  “  a  female 
Bluebeard  ”  by  the  press.  On  the  test  question,  I  voted  all  alone 
in  one  of  the  last  faculty  meetings  of  my  history — my  good  friends 
being  either  absent  or  not  voting.  They  knew  the  utter  useless¬ 
ness  of  making  an  issue  with  the  president.  I  knew  it,  too,  but 
my  resolve  was  taken,  the  world  was  wide,  and  I  would  not 
waste  my  life  in  friction  when  it  could  be  turned  into  momentum. 

With  but  two  exceptions,  my  generous  girls  stood  with  me 
and  declared  that  they  would  gladly  submit  to  any  rules  I  might 
think  best.  There  may  be  other  instances  on  record,  but  I  have 
not  found  them,  of  a  college  full  of  girls  crying  for  rules  like 
housekeepers  for  sapolio  !  But  the  fiat  had  gone  forth  :  Practically 
equal  freedom  for  all  students  and  the  method  of  self-government 
disfavored.  This  being  settled,  I  determined  tp  resign.  My 
mother,  brother  and  dear  friends  protested  with  might  and  main. 


232 


“  /  Am  To  Go— I  Am  To  Go." 


If  I  would  state  the  case  to  the  trustees,  they  felt  sure  that  I 
would  be  sustained  ;  Evanstonians  were  all  my  friends,  they 
thought,  and  with  a  clearly  defined  issue  like  this,  the  local 
pressure  in  my  favor  would  be  strong.  I  had  been  elected  to  a 
most  honorable  life-position  at  a  salary  of  $2,400  per  year,  had  no 
money  laid  up,  and  no  other  means  of  support ;  it  was  consummate 
folly  to  resign  a  position  so  congenial  as  “Dean  of  the  Woman’s 
College,  and  Professor  of  ^Esthetics  in  the  Northwestern  Univer¬ 
sity.”  How  could  I  think  of  leaving  such  a  post?  Thiis  they 
reasoned  long  and  loud.  But  to  my  trusted  few  I  stated  my  de¬ 
cision  as  unalterable,  and  then  as  always  they  stood  by  me,  loyal, 
loving  and  true.  To  no  trustee  did  I  give  the  slightest  intimation 
of  my  purpose,  but  went  quietly  on  with  my  work  ;  saw  the  stew¬ 
ard  of  the  Woman’s  College,  who  had  been  authorized  to  do  so, 
conducting  evening  prayers  while  I  sat  by  on  the  platform  and 
my  girls  looked  whole  encyclopedias  of  rebellion  and  wrath  ;  con¬ 
ducted  my  art  classes  at  the  new  building  to  which  from  Rest  Cot¬ 
tage  I  removed  my  residence  ;  went  to  the  University  Hall  to  hear 
my  college  classes  in  English  composition,  and  to  the  Preparatory 
for  similar  classes  there ;  and  all  the  time  this  refrain  was  in  my 
heart : 

“  I  am  to  go,  I  am  to  go  !  This  college  has  been  dearer  to 
me  than  anything  save  Forest  Home.  Three  years  of  my  life’s 
hardest  work  and  best  are  here  enshrined  ;  brick  by  brick  I’ve 
watched  the.se  handsome  walls  as  they  climbed  high  above  the 
trees,  and  thought,  “This  is  Professor  Jones’s  college  of  which 
he  was  so  fond,  and  it  is  my  sister  Mary’s  that  died  and  it  is 
mine.”  With  a  faculty  of  women  gathered  around  me  that  are 
like  a  band  of  sisters,  with  pupils  loving  and  beloved,  with  a  life- 
position  as  professor  of  the  branches  I  like  best  and  know  most 
about,  and  an  adequate  income  assured,  with  mother  and  Rest 
Cottage  only  two  blocks  away,  I  felt  too  tranquil  and  secure. 
But  as  the  eagle  stirreth  her  nest  and  leadeth  forth  her  young,  so 
the  Lord  alone  shall  lead  me  ;  I  must  go  ;  the  world  is  wide  and 
full  of  elbow  room  ;  this  atmosphere  is  stifling — I  must  leave  it.  ’  ’ 

On  June  16,  1874,  I  went  to  my  last  faculty  meeting. 
How  I  dreaded  it !  The  beautiful  stone  building,  the  blue  lake 
seen  through  the  trees,  the  pleasant  sky — I  took  last  pictures  of 
them  all.  In  the  president’s  room  they  were  assembled — those 


The  Case  Stated. 


233 


1 

men  of  culture  and  conservatism  of  whom  I  knew  that  none  were 
my  enemies,  and  several  were  my  friends.  Kate  Jackson  was 
with  me,  as  usual,  having  the  position  of  acting  professor  of 
French.  I  asked  and  received  permission  to  read  my  report 
which  was  as  follows  : 

To  THE  Faculty — Authorized  by  a  resolution  of  some  weeks  since, 
I  will  indicate  briefly,  the  principal  points  developed  during  the  past  term 
in  the  working  of  the  “  Rules  for  the  Woman’s  College.” 

1.  The  demand  of  a  certain  class  of  patrons  and  of  students  for  equal¬ 
ity  between  young  men  and  women  in  their  relations  to  the  government 
seems  to  have  been  met  in  a  manner  generally  satisfactory,  by  making 
no  special  requirement  of  young  women  boarding  outside  the  college  build¬ 
ing  ;  thus  placing  them,  in  all  regards,  on  the  same  basis  as  young  men. 

Those  parents  who  desire  to  entrust  their  daughters  with  the  respon¬ 
sibilities  and  prerogatives  of  self-government,  can  certainly  make  no  com¬ 
plaint  that  this  is  not  practicable  in  the  Northwestern  University. 

2.  On  the  other  hand,  allow  me  to  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that 
a  large  and  estimable  class  of  patrons  do  not  find  their  wants  met  by  the 
system  of  regulations  at  present  prevailing  within  the  college  building. 
From  the  first,  I  have  been  impressed  with  this,  but  particularly  so  within 
the  last  fortnight,  on  being  questioned  by  those  who  contemplate  intrust¬ 
ing  their  daughters  to  the  care  of  this  faculty  and  who  are  not  entirely 
disabused  of  old  time  prejudices  against  “  mixed  schools.”  One  of  the  first 
inquiries  of  such  parents  is  :  ”  To  what  extent  will  the  acquaintances  formed 
by  my  daughter,  and  the  social  attentions  she  receives,  be  regulated  by  those 
under  whose  care  I  place  her  ?  ’  ’ 

A  gentleman  from  Kansas  applying  on  behalf  of  his  motherless  daugh¬ 
ter  of  fifteen,  asked  me  this  question  with  much  anxiety.  In  view  of  the 
fact  that  young  ladies  in  the'  building  receive  calls  from  whom  and  when 
their  judgment  dictates  (out  of  study  hours),  that  they  can  be  attended  by 
gentlemen  to  nearly  all  the  public  exercises  of  the  institution,  and  to  all  the 
regular  religious  meetings,  without  any  special  permission  ;  in  view,  also, 
of  the  fact  that  they  leave  the  grounds  at  all  times  freely  out  of  study  hours, 
(and  thus,  on  Saturday  and  Sabbath  can  be  absent  for  hours  at  a  time  with¬ 
out  a  teacher’s  cognizance),  I  have  found  it  impracticable  to  answer  truth¬ 
fully  such  questions  as  I  have  referred  to,  and  at  the  same  time  to  secure  the 
patronage  of  the  inquirer. 

3.  The  principle  having  been  recognized,  that,  within  the  college  build¬ 
ing,  the  social  relations  of  young  ladies  are,  in  the  main,  left  to  be  deter¬ 
mined  by  the  girls  themselves,  I  have  found  it  extremely  difficult,  indeed 
impossible,  to  impress  them  with  the  dignity  and  importance  of  such  excep¬ 
tions  to  the  general  rule,  as  the  faculty  has  seen  fit  to  make.* 

♦The  young  ladies  were,  under  these  rules,  free  to  go  with  young  men  to  all  meetings 
pertaining  to  the  ohurch  and  school,  and  only  asked  my  permission  when  invited  to  con¬ 
certs.,  lectures,  etc.,  outside  these  “regular  exercises.” 


234 


Home  Government  the  Correct  Method. 


When  by  the  authority  of  this  faculty,  a  young  lady  can  receive  a  call 
daily,  if  she  chooses,  from  Mr.  A.  (even  if  the  teacher  in  charge  deems 
his  acquaintance  an  undesirable  one  for  her),  when,  if  she  chooses,  she 
can  attend  Monday  evening  prayer-meeting,  Tuesday  class-meeting  and 
Wednesday  prayer-meeting,  and  on  Friday  evening  can  accompany  him  to  a 
literary  society,  is  it  to  be  wondered  at  if  she  regards  it  as  unimportant  that 
she  obtain  permission  before  going  with  him  on  Thursday  evening  to  hear 
the  Hampton  singers  ? 

Once  admit  that  a  lady  student  is  competent  to  decide  upon  four  fifths 
of  the  “social  privileges”  of  a  given  week  and  she  will  soon  learn  to  speak 
as  flippantly  as  she  thinks  lightly  of  the  restriction  placed  upon  the  remain¬ 
ing  fraction  of  her  liberty. 

4.  As  an  inference  from  what  has  been  stated  already,  let  me  record  the 
opinion  that  one  and  the  same  system  of  self-government  for  all  lady 
students  within  the  building  as  well  as  without,  is  more  logical  and  will 
prove  more  successful  than  the  present  partial  measures,  which  suit  neither 
the  radicals  nor  the  conservatives  and  are,  as  experience  and  their  own  testi¬ 
mony  conbine  to  prove,  unsuited  to  the  girls  themselves.  Indeed,  I  think 
girls  boarding  out  have,  under  the  present  system,  moral  advantages  over 
those  in  the  building  ;  for,  being  few  in  number  in  any  one  family,  they  are 
not  likely^  to  go  to  such  extremes  as  when  assembled  in  one  building  they  are 
sure  to  reach,  when  left  so  largely  to  their  own  immature  judgment.  My  own 
conviction  that  a  more  responsible  “  home  government,” — one  more  worthy 
of  a  name  involving  an  interest  so  deep,  and  a  duty  so  high — is  the  truer 
solution  of  the  problem,  need  hardly  be  repeated  here  ! 

5.  It  has  been  my  task  to  administer,  during  the  past  few  weeks,  laws 
to  which  neither  rewards  nor  penalties  had  been  attached.  Mild  as  is  the 
code,  and  few  as  are  its  requisitions,  I  have  greatly  felt  the  need  of  some 
incentive  to  its  observance  on  the  part  of  the  young  ladies  ;  and  though  no 
instance  of  violation  of  rule,  which  has  come  to  my  knowledge,  has  passed 
unrebuked,  I  have  found  a  growing  unconcern  on  the  part  of  our  well- 
meaning  girls,  and  a  hardly- concealed  carelessness  on  that  of  others.  Let 
me  suggest  that  the  liope*of  advancement  to  a  higher  grade,  the  certainty  of 
a  report  sent  home  to  parents,  or  some  other  expedient,  will  greatly  aid  in 
the  administration  of  the  rules. 

6.  The  effect  on  the  young  ladies,  of  being  left  to  the  guidance  of  their 
own  judgment,  has  not,  in  my  opinion,  been  fortunate.  Aside  from  the 
slight  esteem  in  which  they  have  come  to  hold  the  rules,  there  has  been  a 
stronger  tendency  toward  sociability  than  toward  study  on  the  part  of  many, 
and  a  lightness  of  bearing,  a  pertness  of  speech  and  manner,  and  a  tendency 
to  disorder,  such  as  my  long  experience  in  a  school  family  has  never  wit¬ 
nessed  hitherto. 

7.  I  do  not  deem  it  inappropriate  to  express,  in  this  connection,  the 
decided  opinion  that,  as  at  present  conducted,  the  experiment  of  receiving 
young  men  into  the  Woman’s  College  building  as  day-boarders  has  not  war¬ 
ranted  the  expectations  of  its  friends.  I  am  confident  that  this  opinion  is 


“  Between  the  Upper  and  Nether  Millstones 


235 


shared  by  all  who  have  thoughtfully  considered  its  developments.  The 
young  men  should,  in  my  opinion,  be  more  carefully  chosen  ;  should  have 
certain  restrictions  or  should  be  discontinued  altogether,  the  latter  being,  as 
it  seems  to  me,  much  the  better  course  to  be  pursued.  Though  a  few  have 
been  gentlemen,  the  majority  have,  by  their  rude  behavior,  much  increased 
the  unpleasantness  of  the  family  life,  while  their  influence  over  the  young 
ladies,  uniformly  directed  against  order  and  discipline,  has  rendered  the 
problem  of  government  much  more  complicated  than  it  would  otherwise 
have  been. 

8.  In  conclusion,  let  me  ask  your  attention  to  the  duty  of  a  plain  un¬ 
derstanding  with  the  public  on  the  question  of  the  government  of  young 
ladies  in  this  institution. 

The  supposition  is  as  natural  as  it  is  universal,  that  a  school  having  a 
ladies’  department,  undertakes  special  supervision  of  this  class  of  pupils, 
particularly  in  regard  to  their  social  relations.  The  public  mind  is  fully 
persuaded  that  this  is  the  policy  of  the  Woman’s  College,  not  only  from 
the  nature  of  the  case,  but  from  the  newspaper  controversy  of  last  winter, 
at  which  time  the  supposition  was  correct. 

Repeatedly  have  mothers  who  intended  sending  their  daughters  to  this 
institution,  asked  me  within  the  last  month  “If  this  were  not  a  strict 
school  ?  ”  and  it  has  proved  an  ungracious  task  to  correct  this  quite  erroneous 
opinion. 

But  consider  expressions  like  the  following  from  the  new  catalogue  :  “  A 
home  for  young  women,  where  their  morals,  health  and  manners  can  be  con¬ 
stantly  under  the  special  care  of  women;”  “special  advantages  of  watch- 
care,”  and  others,  of  the  like  import,  and  see  if  there  is  not  a  discrepancy,  of 
which  you  have  not  been  aware,  between  these  statements  and  the  system 
now  in  force. 

My  own  relation  to  the  Woman’s  College  has  brought  out  the  difficulty 
above  referred  to  in  a  light  more  vivid  than  agreeable.  With  the  parents 
on  one  side  asking,  “  What  safeguards  can  you  offer  to  my  daughter  iu  her 
youth  an/1  inexperience  ?  ”  and  the  financial  interests  on  the  other  urgingthe 
utmost  possible  conciliation  of  patronage  (in  view  of  an  impaired  exchequer) 
I  have  newly  illustrated  the  peril  of  being  between  the  upper  and  the 
nether  millstones. 

Clearly  there  are  but  two  courses  open  to  the  University  :  First,  no 
special  requirements  for  young  women,  either  in  the  building  or  in  private 
families,  and  a  frank  avowal  of  such  policy  to  patrons  and  inquirers ;  or, 
second  (the  idea  of  general  supervision  having  been  abandoned  by  the  fac¬ 
ulty),  a  systematic  oversight  of  the  daily  life  and  associations  of  those  board¬ 
ing  within  the  college  walls.  I  do  not  mean  the  old-fashioned  boarding 
school  system,  which  I  never  advocated,  but  I  do  mean  such  care  and  over¬ 
sight,  as  will  replace,  so  far  as  it  can  be  done,  the  influence  of  home. 

All  this  I  can  say  to  you,  gentlemen,  with  the  more  directness,  because 
of  its  being  my  last  utterance  in  my  present  relations  to  you. 


236 


We  Must  Work  for  Peace" 


<  < 


I  have  long  thought  there  was  but  one  fitting  sequel  to  my  experiences 
of  the  past  school-year,  experiences  of  which  but  little  has  come  to  the  sur¬ 
face  in  the  meetings  of  the  faculty.  Yet,  from  time  to  time,  I  have  hoped 
for  an  improvement  in  the  outlook  of  the  Woman’s  College.  I  finally  deter¬ 
mined,  some  weeks  since,  upon  a  careful  reconsideration  of  the  whole 
question  of  my  relations  to  the  University,  and,  as  a  result,  I  wrote  my 
resignation  several  days  ago,  which  I  shall  present  to  the  trustees  on  Tues¬ 
day  next. 

As  my  last  word  concerning  the  vexed  question  of  government  (one 
which,  in  my  opinion,  involves  that  of  the  success  of  the  co-education 
experiment  to  which  I  have,  in  Evanston,  given  some  of  my  best  years),  let 
me  ask  that  the  faculty  carefully  review  the  whole  question,  not  only  on 
its  merits,  but  in  the  light  of  this  term’s  experience  ;  that  you  allow  some 
weight  to  the  womanly  judgment  of  her  who  shall  succeed  me  as  Dean  ; 
that  the  daily  devotional  exercise  at  the  Woman’s  College  be  placed  under 
her  care  ;  and  that,  upon  whatever  course  you  may  determine,  the  policy  be 
clearly  stated  to  the  public,  especially  to  parents  who  contemplate  sending 
their  daughters  to  this  institution. 

Respectfully  submitted, 

Frances  E.  Wieeard, 

Dean  of  the  Woman's  College  of  Northwestern  University. 

June  ij,  1874. 

The  reading  over,  I  asked  if  Miss  Jackson  and  I  might  be 
excused.  The  president  nodded,  and  I  went  forth,  not  knowing 
whither  I  went,  but  glad,  though  grieved,  to  go.  I  pass  over 
the  trying  ordeal  of  a  “trustee  meeting,”  in  which  it  seemed  to 
me  that  those  opposed  would  fain  have  put  me  in  the  attitude  of 
a  culprit,  while  those  who  were  my  friends  said,  very  properly, 
“  We’d  fight  for  you  if  you  would  stay,  but  you  are  bound  to  go 
and  we  must  work  for  peace.”  I  remember  walking  into  the 
University  chapel,  where  this  trustee  meeting  was  held  ;  and 
what  a  stay  and  solace  it  was  to  grasp  the  arm  of  my  beloved 
friend  and  sister,  Mrs.  Hannah  Pearsons,  who  has  reminded  me 
always  of  the  blessed  Hannah  of  old.  I  can  see  my  brother  at 
the  reporter’s  table, — though  au  editor-in-chief,  he  chose  to  hear 
for  himself  that  day, —  erect,  alert,  and  deeply  angered  ;  my  loyal 
knight  always.  I  can  see  the  sad  faces  of  those  faithful  women, 
the  trustees  of  the  old  college,  and  the  thoughtful  looks  of  the 
officers  of  our  educational  association,  and  my  dear  pupils  with 
their  sympathetic  eyes.  My  resignation  was  read  and  referred, 
without  debate,  to  a  “Special  Committee  on  the  Woman’s 
College.”  It  read  as  follows  : 


The  Deayi  Resigns. 


237 


Evanston,  June  13,  1874. 

Gentlemen  and  Ladies  of  the  Board  of  Trustees  of  the  Northwestern 

University  : 

It  has  slowly,  but  surely  become  evident  that  I  can  never  carry  into  ex¬ 
ecution  my  deepest  convictions  concerning  the  interests  of  the  Woman’s 
College  under  the  existing  policy  of  government. 

I  therefore  resign  the  office  of  Dean  of  the  Woman’s  College,  and  Pro¬ 
fessor  of  .Esthetics  in  the  University  to  which  you  elected  me  one  year  ago. 

There  are  other  reasons  for  this  action,  which  justice  to  myself  would 
require  me  to  name  in  the  hearing  of  the  trustees,  but  I  refrain  from  doing 
this  out  of  regard  to  interests  which  must  take  precedence  of  any  personal 
consideration.  Respectfully  submitted, 

Frances  E.  Wieeard. 

Relative  to  the  foregoing  documents  by  me  presented,  the 
following  reports  were  made  by  the  special  committee  and  unani¬ 
mously  adopted  by  the  trustees  : 

Your  committee  to  whom  has  been  referred  the  consideration  of  the 
interests  of  the  Woman’s  College  and  in  connection  therewith  the  resigna¬ 
tion  presented  to  the  board  of  trustees  by  Miss  Frances  E.  Willard  of  her 
position  as  Dean  of  said  College  and  Professor  of  .Esthetics  in  the  North¬ 
western  University,  would  respectfully  report  that,  while  they  profoundly 
regret  that  any  reasons  should  be  supposed  to  exist  sufficient  to  induce 
such  resignation,  they  would  recommend  the  acceptance  of  the  same  by 
the  board  of  trustees. .  They  further  report  that  in  view  of  the  intimation 
contained  in  the  letter  of  resignation  of  Miss  Willard  that  the  existing  sys¬ 
tem  of  government  in  the  Woman’s  College  is  in  her  conviction  defective, 
the  committee  ask  leave  for  further  time  to  inquire  into  the  grounds  upon 
which  the  objections  are  founded,  and  to  mature  and  indicate  the  proper 
remedy  for  any  such  defects  they  may  find  to  exist. 

This  report  was  accepted  and  adopted,  the  substance  of  the 
latter  part  being  laid  over  for  further  action.  The  final  report 
was  as  follows,  and  was  also  unanimously  adopted  : 

The  committee  to  whom  was  referred  subjects  of  interest  pertaining  to 
the  Woman’s  College  would  respectfully  report  upon  the  question  of  rules 
for  the  Woman's  College  and  for  women  attending  different  departments  of 
the  University,  which  question  is  suggested  for  present  consideration  by  the 
resignation  of  the  Dean  of  the  Woman’s  College  ;  that  the  system  of  co¬ 
education  is  new  to  the  trustees  of  the  University,  and  new,  as  well,  in 
its  University  form  to  the  faculty  of  the  University  and  the  Dean  of  the 
Woman’s  College,  and  it  is  not  surprising  that  there  should  have  been  a 
difference  of  views  with  the  members  of  the  faculty  as  to  the  proper  rules 
required  under  the  circumstances.  That  the  existing  rules  were  not  the 
exact  views  of  any  particular  member  of  the  faculty,  and  not  precisely 


233 


The  Special  Committee  Reports. 


what  any  single  one  would  have  suggested,  that  they  were  in  the  nature 
of  a  compromise  of  different  views,  seems  true.  There  is  no  doubt  that  the 
Dean  of  the  Woman’s  College  supposed  in  the  formal  union  of  the  Woman’s 
College  with  the  University,  all  authority  to  make  rules  aud  regulations  for 
the  Woman’s  College  was  reserved  to  itself,  and  was  not  to  be  exercised  by 
the  faculty  of  the  University ;  that  subsequently  she  cordially  united  with 
the  president  in  framing  rules  that  after  much  public  and  private  discussion 
were  regarded  as  defective,  and  in  this  view  she  was  understood  by  a  ma¬ 
jority  of  the  faculty  to  concur  ;  that,  at  a  later  period,  when  public  discussion 
had  ceased  with  reference  to  the  rules,  the  faculty  of  the  University  took  up 
and  fully  considered  the  question  ;  that  in  this  discussion  the  Dean  of  the 
Woman’s  College  was  not  in  full  accord  on  the  general  principles  of  gov¬ 
ernment  for  young  women  with  the  faculty,  or  a  majority  of  them  ;  but 
it  was  understood  that  in  the  main,  all  parties  assented  to  the  rules  as 
adopted,  though  in  some  points  they  were  not  entirely  satisfactory  to  the 
Dean  of  the  Woman’s  College.  Distinct  provisions  were  made  by  the 
faculty  that  the  Dean  of  the  Woman’s  College  shall,  from  time  to  time, 
report  to  this  faculty  upon  the  success  of  the  rules  adopted  by  the  faculty, 
That  the  Dean  of  the  Woman’s  College  was  greatly  solicitous  for  the  wel¬ 
fare  and  successful  administration  of  the  Woman’s  College,  the  committee 
fully  believe ;  that  she  believed  herself  without  adequate  authority  for  a 
satisfactory  administration  of  the  Woman’s  College  is  also  manifest 

The  committee  on  the  other  hand  fully  believe  the  faculty  of  the  Univer¬ 
sity  were  equally  anxious  for  the  successful  administration  of  the  Woman’s 
College,  aud  were  ready  and  willing  to  render  any  aid  that  they  believed 
would  contribute  to  that  end,  and  that  they  regarded  the  rules  adopted  as 
an  experiment.  That  the  Dean  of  the  Woman’s  College  made  no  request 
to  the  faculty  of  the  University  for  additional  rules  seems  to  be  conceded. 
That  she  did  not,  may  be  explained  by  the  fact  that  she  did  not  wish,  with 
too  great  haste,  to  pronounce  the  existing  rules  insufficient,  or  by  the  con¬ 
sideration  that  she  would  delay  such  suggestion  until  by  her  announced 
resignation  all  personal  considerations  .should  be  eliminated  from  this 
subject. 

The  committee  believe  that  the  Executive  Committee  of  the  University 
made  arrangements  without  consulting  the  Dean  of  the  Woman’s  College,  or 
the  faculty  of  the  University,  with  reference  to  day  board'ers  in  the  Woman’s 
College,  that  proved  not  wise,  and  which  have  been  discontinued. 

The  committee  would  recommend  to  the  faculty  of  the  University  that 
at  an  early  day  they  reconsider  and  re-examine  the  rules  of  the  Woman’s 
College,  and  that  in  any  respect  in  which  they  shall  be  found  inadequate  by 
administration  to  a  complete  and  thorough  safeguard  of  the  students,  that 
they  be  amended  or  added  to. 

The  committee  are  persuaded  that  the  trustees  and  faculty  of  the  Uni¬ 
versity  have  a  united  purpose  to  make  the  Woman's  College,  in  its  depart¬ 
ments  of  instruction  and  government,  worthy  the  fullest  public  confidence. 

This  “Special  Committee”  was,  as  I  then  believed,  mort- 


Life's  Holiest  Revelation. 


239 


gaged  from  tlie  first  to  the  side  of  the  stronger,  and  before  it, 
when  arraigned  as  not  having  carried  out  the  rules  efficiently, 
I  burst  out  crying,  and  left  the  room.  Finding  my  brother  with 
a  carriage  at  the  gate,  I  soon  reached  friendly  shelter. 

So  it  was  over,  the  greatest  sacrifice  my  life  had  known  or 
ever  can  know.  For,  lying  there  alone  in  our  beautiful  college, 
so  thankful  to  be  out  of  sight  in  my  own  quiet  suite  of  rooms, 
planned  for  me  by  the  loving  care  of  the  good  women  whom  I 
had  worked  with  so  happily,  there  came  to  me  the  sense  of  an 
injustice  so  overwhelming  that  no  other  experience  of  mine  com¬ 
pares  with  it  in  poignancy.  “  I  tried  so  hard  and  meant  so  well  !  ” 
Over  and  over  again,  I  said  those  words  and  with  agony  of  tears 
1  pitied  myself  then  and  there,  so  that  they  heard  me  all  through 
the  hall,  and  were  frightened  by  my  anguish.  Evening  wore 
on,  and  at  his  handsome  residence  near  by,  the  president’s  levee 
went  forward.  I  could  see  its  flashing  lights  and  flitting  forms 
as  I  lay  there  alone,  and  music  by  the  band  smote  my  tired  ears. 

At  last  everything  grew  still  and  sweet  and  holy,  while  far 
into  the  night  the  deep  June  sky  bent  over  me  with  a  beauty  that 
was  akin  to  tenderness.  The  storm  in  my  soul  ebbed  away 
slowly,  the  sobs  ceased,  the  long  sighs  were  less  frequent.  As 
dies  the  wave  along  the  shore,  so  died  away  for  evermore  my 
sorrow  to  lose  the  beautiful  college  that  my  heart  had  loved  as 
other  women’s  hearts  love  their  .sweet  and  sacred  homes.  I11  the 
long  hours  that  followed,  the  peace  that  passeth  understanding 
settled  down  upon  my  soul.  God  was  revealed  to  me  as  a  great, 
brooding  Motherly  Spirit,  and  all  of  us  who  tried  to  carry  on  the 
University,  while  Fie  carried  on  the  Universe,  seemed  like  little 
boys  and  girls,  who  meant  well,  but  who  did  n’t  always  under¬ 
stand  each  other.  The  figure  was  of  children  playing  in  a  nurs¬ 
ery,  and  one  little  boy  had  more  vigor  than  the  rest  of  us,  and, 
naturally,  wanted  us  to  play  his  way,  while  a  little  girl,  whom  I 
thought  I  could  identify,  said,  “  No  ;  my  way  is  best  !  ”  Then  a 
deep  voice  declared,  “  This  is  the  interpretation — good  to  forgive, 
best  to  forget.  ”  And  then  the  happiness  that  mocketh  speech, 
flowed,  like  the  blessed,  tranquil  river  of  dear  old  Forest  Home, 
all  through  my  soul,  and  overflowed  its  banks  with  quiet,  happy 
tears. 


240 


The  Heavenly  Vision. 


My  cousins,  Rev.  S.  and  Mrs.  M.  B;  Norton,  who  were  asso¬ 
ciated  with  me  from  the  first  in  all  this  college  enterprise,  and 
my  friend  Kate,  were  sent  for  at  this  point  by  my  room-mate, 
Miss  Harriet  Reed.  The  record  as  my  cousins  have  written  it 
out,  is  this  : 

Well  do  I  remember  (writes  Mr.  N.)  the  rap  upon  our  door  in  the  then 
new  Woman’s  College  building  at  Evanston,  one  morning  in  June,  1874. 
It  was  an  early  hour,  while  it  was  yet  dark.  To  the  question,  “  Who  is 
there?”  a  friendly  voice  responded,  adding,  “Mrs.  N.,  I  wish  you  would 
come  to  Miss  Willard’s  room.  She  has  not  slept  during  the  night.  Some¬ 
thing  is  the  matter  with  her,  I  don’t  know  what.” 

The  call  was  instantly  heeded,  and  we  found  Miss  Willard,  though 
surprised,  yet  glad  to  see  us. 

She  seemed  very  anxious  to  have  everything  right  between  herself  and 
those  from  whom  she  had  so  widely  differed.  And  so  intent  wTas  she  upon 
this  purpose  that  she  urged  us  to  send  out  at  once  to  call  in  those  who  had 
been  so  eagerly  engaged  in  opposition  to  her,  that  she  might  ask  pardon  of 
them  all.  But  we  wTho  were  then  present  were  slow  to  believe  that  this  was 
any  part  of  her  duty.  Yet  we  could  not  fail  to  see  how  easy  it  now  was 
with  her  to  obey  the  best  impulses  of  her  heart  in  putting  away  everything 
that  seemed  un-Christian  ;  sins  of  omission  and  sins  of  commission,  of 
“word,  thought  or  deed,”  for  since  the  heavenly  vision  was  present,  noth¬ 
ing  must  be  kept  back.  The  joy  of  forgiveness  was  with  her.  Of  this  I 
have  never  known  a  brighter  example. 

It  was  now  fully  morning  and  Miss  Willard’s  mother  was  sent  for,  who 
came  with  a  carriage,  saying  that  “her  own  home  and  her  own  folks  were 
what  Frank  needed,”  so  she  was  carried  away  from  her  well-beloved  college 
forever.  Mrs.  N.  and  myself  took  an  early  train  for  Wisconsin.  As  we 
passed  from  this  scene  of  “heavenly  vision,”  in  which,  as  Miss  Willard  had 
said,  “God  seemed  so  great,  so  loving,  and  human  plans  so  small,”  I  re¬ 
marked  to  my  w7ife,  “  Our  cousin  is  either  soon  to  go  to  her  heavenly  home 
or  from  this  time  her  life  is  to  be  enlarged  !  This  wonderful  manifestation 
of  Divine  grace  means  something  unusual.” 

FIFTEEN  YEARS  EATER. 

In  tlie  foregoing  pages  I  have  tried  to  set  forth  the  facts  as 
they  seemed  to  me  at  the  time,  and  to  do  this  with  all  possible 
considerateness  and  charity.  But  seen  through  the  long  telescope 
of  fifteen  years,  and  from  a  totally  different  angle  of  vision,  the 
whole  affair  takes  on  a  different  aspect.  I  now  perceive  that  our 
Woman’s  College  building,  its  traditions,  plans  and  purposes,  all 
suited  admirably  to  an  independent,  institution,  were  not  adapted 
to  our  relations  as  a  department.  The  cost  of  this  building 
greatly  embarrassed  the  trustees,  upon  whom  the  failure  of  our 


Moral  Horticulture  in  Universities. 


241 


subscription  list,  after  the  Chicago  fire,  threw  burdens  greater  than 
they  felt  able  to  bear,  and  probably  prejudiced  them  somewhat 
against  our  movement.  The  steward,  who  was  authorized  by 
the  president  to  conduct  prayers  in  my  stead,  was  a  Methodist 
minister  and  a  gentleman  of  fine  attainments,  for  whose  dignity 
his  brother  minister  showed  a  consideration  that  was  perhaps  no 
more  than  due. 

But  the  clashing  of  my  theory  of  a  woman’s  college  against 
our  president’s  theory  of  a  man’s  university  was  the  storm  center 
of  the  difficulty.  An  executive  chief,  the  law  of  whose  mind 
made  general  supervision  his  policy  in  the  departments,  was  sud¬ 
denly  exchanged  for  one,  the  law  of  whose  mind  made  special 
supervision  the  necessary  policy  and  I,  at  least,  as  a  departmental 
leader,  did  not  take  kindly  to  the  change  !  Young  men  students 
helped  on  the  revolt  against  the  restrictions  that  seemed  to  me 
essential  after  my  plan  of  self-government  was  set  aside,  and  their 
watchword,  “Equal  rights  for  us  all,”  was  certainly  chivalric,  and 
in  a  deep  sense,  just.  So  far  as  the  difficult  question  of  govern¬ 
ment  in  such  an  institution  is  concerned,  I  would  now  say,  with 
what  seems  to  me  to  be  the  clearer  sight  of  these  more  impartial 
years  :  put  all  on  the  same  plane,  but  lift  the  plane  on  which 
young  manhood  stands  to  the  higher  level  of  young  womanhood. 
Have  a  college  senate  of  students  made  up  of  representatives  from 
all  departments,  and  let  them  conduct  the  government.  This 
would  break  down  the  false  ideas  of  ‘  ‘  honor  ’  ’  that  are  among  the 
student’s  greatest  temptations  ;  banish  the  hatefulness  of  espion¬ 
age  and  give  the  noblest  incentives  to  truthfulness  in  word  and 
deed.  With  present  light,  I  would  organize  a  .school  as  the 
national  Government  is  organized  —  the  college  president  and 
faculty  being  analogous  to  the  Supreme  Court — and  would  make 
the  discipline  of  our  young  people’s  formative  years  a  direct  prep¬ 
aration  and  rehearsal  for  their  participation  in  the  government  of 
their  country,  later  on.  This  would  leave  the  minds  of  teachers 
free  to  develop  their  specialties  of  instruction,  and  to  lay  deep 
and  broad  foundations  for  the  ripe  scholarship  that  is  the  glory 
of  a  great  seat  of  learning.  Moral  horticulture  at  home  and  at 
school  must  always  be  the  basis  of  success  in  developing  Christian 
character  among  students,  but  participation  in  the  government 
would  place  them  in  organic  contact  with  the  wisest  and  most 
16 


I 


242  Peace-making. 

parental  minds  among  their  teachers,  and  thus  head  and  heart 
culture  would  go  on  side  by  side.  So  much  for  my  present 
outlook  and  theory  of  school  government,  which,  if  I  were  to 
begin  my  district  school  in  Harlem  at  fifty,  as  I  shall  not,  instead 
of  at  twenty  as  I  did,  should  be  at  once  instituted  in  place  of  a 
set  of  rules  with  a  rattan  back  of  them.  And  were  I  now  at 
Evanston,  I  would  urge  this  view  with  what  I  fear  might  be 
regarded  as  “pernicious  activity’’ upon  the  grave  and  revered 
leaders  who  very  likely  know  a  hundred  times  better  than  I  do 
how  to  conduct  a  university. 

It  grieves  me  that  I  can  not  truthfully  say  I  left  the  Dean- 
ship  of  a  college  and  a  professor’s  chair  in  one  of  America’s  best 
universities  on  purpose  to  take  up  temperance  work,  but  the 
unvarnished  tale  here  told  must  forever  dispel  that  rare  illusion. 
It  is  however  true,  that  having  left,  I  determined  upon  temperance 
work  in  face  of  tempting  offers  to  teach  in  New  York  City  and 
several  other  centers,  and  held  to  temperance  work  though  de¬ 
lightful  positions  outside  its  circle  have  been  open  to  me  all  along 
the  years.  Nor  is  there  any  merit  in  this  constancy  ;  I  had,  at 
last,  found  my  vocation,  that  is  all,  and  learned  the  secret  of  a 
happy  life. 

A  few  months  after  I  left  Evanston  and  while  I  was  president 
of  Chicago  W.  C.  T.  U.,  Mr.  Robert  Pearsall  Smith,  a  wealthy 
Philadelphia  manufacturer,  and  at  that  time  a  leading  evangelist, 
came  to  Chicago  and  gave  Bible  readings  of  wonderful  power,  in 
Eower  Farwell  Hall.  I  remember  he  was  staying  at  the  Sherman 
House,  where  he  invited  several  ladies  and  gentlemen  to  dine 
with  him,  and  afterward  I  had  an  earnest  conversation  with 
him  about  the  Christian  life.  I  told  him  of  the  circumstances 
under  which  I  left  the  University,  and  that  I  had  unkind  feelings 
toward  several  who  were  then  connected  with  it,  that  it  was 
the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I  had  for  any  length  of  time  felt 
other  than  cordial  good  will  toward  every  human  being,  and 
though  I  was  now  greatly  ameliorated  in  mind  toward  all,  I 
still  felt  and  wished  to  do  something  farther  in  the  direction 
of  a  more  friendly  understanding  with  some  of  those  whose  asso¬ 
ciate  I  had  so  recently  been.  “  There  is  but  one  thing  to  do,  my 
friend,”  he  said;  “take  the  morning  train  for  Evanston,  see 
each  and  all  between  whom  and  yourself  there  is  the  faintest 


A  Winsome  Thing  is  the  Human  Heart.  243 

cloud,  and  without  asking  them  to  make  any  acknowledgment 
whatever  to  you,  freely  pour  out  in  their  ears  your  own  acknowl¬ 
edgment,  with  the  assurance  of  your  affectionate  good  will.” 
And  this  I  did  next  day.  The  recital  of  my  experience  in  going 
back  on  such  an  errand  to  “my  ain  familiar  town,”  would  be 
both  pathetic  and  humorous.  At  first  some  of  my  dearest  friends 
declared  I  should  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  that  the  bad  behavior 
had  been  wholly  on  one  side,  and  it  would  be  an  undignified  and 
hypocritical  admission  of  ill-conduct  if  I  .should  go  and  make 
apology.  My  brother  was  specially  strenuous  on  this  point,  but 
I  said  to  him,  “  I  am  going  to  see  the  president  of  the  University; 
you  are  my  only  near  male  relative,  and  I  think  it  behooves  you 
to  act  as  my  escort.”  When  the  matter  was  put  before  him  in 
this  light  he  could  not  refuse  to  accompany  me.  There  was  a 
revival  meeting  that  night  in  the  University  chapel  that  we 
attended  and  in  which  I  was  called  upon  to  participate,  which 
I  did.  When  it  was  over  and  nearly  all  had  left  the  chapel,  my 
brother  went  forward  to  the  president  and  said  I  wished  to  speak 
to  him  and  he  would  please  tarry  for  a  moment.  How  plainly  I 
can  see  at  this  moment  the  tall,  slight  figure  of  my  brother  as  he 
strolled  up  and  down  the  aisle,  at  a  distance,  while  in  a  recess  of 
the  chapel  I  went  to  the  president,  saying  as  I  extended  my  hand, 

‘  ‘  I  beg  your  pardon  for  everything  I  have  ever  done  and  said 
that  was  not  right,’ ’  with  other  friendly  words,  assuring  him  that 
I  desired  to  be  at  peace  with  God  and  every  human  soul.  He 
received  me  with  the  utmost  kindness  and  responded  in  about 
these  words  :  ‘  ‘  To  one  who  comes  to  me  as  magnanimously  as 
you  have  done,  I  surely  can  not  say  less  than  that  I  beg  your 
pardon,”  and  from  that  hour  we  have  been  the  best  of  friends. 
He  and  my  brother  shook  hands,  too,  which  was  no  small  victory. 
Others  whom  I  saw  received  me  with  tenderness  even,  and  we 
knelt  in  prayer  with  many  tears,  so  that  when  I  left  the  dear  home 
village  and  came  whizzing  back  to  my  duties  in  the  city,  the 
buoyancy  of  my  spirit  was  greater  than  if  I  had  been  made  that 
day  the  heir  to  some  rich  inheritance.  Nor  do  I  know,  nor  ever 
mean  to  know  in  this  or  any  world,  a  reason  why  any  human 
being  should  hesitate  to  speak  to  me  with  cordiality  and  kind¬ 
ness,  or  wrhy  any  middle  wall  of  partition  should  exist  between 
my  spirit  and  any  other  human  spirit  that  God  has  made. 


244 


Present  Prosperity. 


The  vexed  question  of  government  received  special  attention 
after  I  left,  and  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  Woman’s 
College  has  been  under  the  accomplished  Deans,  Ellen  Soule  and 
Jane  M.  Bancroft,  and  is  under  the  present  gifted  Dean,  Prof. 
Rena  A.  Michaels,  doing  for  young  women  all  that  their  parents 
could  expect  from  a  first-class  institution,  while  the  University 
as  a  whole,  with  its  two  millions  invested,  its  eleven  elegant  build¬ 
ings,  twelve  departments,  one  hundred  professors,  and  nearly 
fifteen  hundred  students,  greatly  outranks  any  other  west  of 
Take  Michigan,  and  richly  deserves  its  name  of  the  “North¬ 
western  ’  ’  in  the  modern  sense  of  that  great  and  comprehensive 
designation.  Steadily  may  its  star  climb  toward  the  zenith, 
growing  clearer  and  more  bright  with  each  succeeding  year  ! 


COLLEGE  COTTAGE,  EVAN8T0N. 


V 


SI  ffivdcss  Sralidcr- 


“ Sleep  save,  O  wave- worn  mariner! 

Fear  not,  to-night,  or  storm  or  sea — ; 
The  ear  of  Heavens  bends  low  to  her.- 

He  comes  to  shore  who  sails  with  me.” 

'—N.  P.  Willis. 


THE  TIRELESS  TRAVELER. 


EARLY  JOURNEYINGS. 

\ 

One  lonesome  day  in  early  spring,  gray  with  fog  and  moist 
with  rain,  a  Sunday  at  that,  and  a  Puritan  Sunday  in  the  bargain, 
I  stood  in  the  doorway  of  our  old  barn  at  Forest  Home.  There 
was  no  church  to  go  to,  and  the  time  stretched  out  before  me 
long  and  desolate.  I  cried  out  in  querulous  tones  to  the  two 
who  shared  my  every  thought,  ‘  ‘  I  wonder  if  we  shall  ever  know 
anything,  see  anybody,  or  go  anywhere  !  ”  for  I  felt  as  if  the  close 
curtains  of  the  fog  hedged  us  in,  somehow,  from  all  the  world 
besides.  Out  spoke  my  cheery  brother,  saying,  “Oh,  I  guess  I 
would  n’t  give  up  quite  yet,  Frank  !  ”  and  sweet  little  Mary 
clasped  my  thin  hand  with  her  warm,  chubby  one,  looked  into  my 
face  and  smiled  that  reassuring  smile,  as  sweet  as  summer  and  as 
fresh  and  fair  as  violets.  “  Why  do  you  wish  to  go  away  ?  ”  she 
asked. 

“  Oh,  we  must  learn — must  grow  and  must  achieve  !  It’s 
such  a  big  world  that  if  we  don’t  begin  at  it  we  shall  never  catch 
up  with  the  rest,”  was  my  unquiet  answer. 

Always  in  later  years  when  the  world  has  widened  for  me, 
as  it  has  kept  on  doing,  I  have  gone  back  in  thought  to  that 
gray,  “  misty,  moisty  morning,  when  cloudy  was  the  weather,” 
and  been  ashamed  and  sorry  for  the  cross  child  I  was,  who  had 
so  little  faith  in  all  that  the  Heavenly  Father  had  in  store. 

My  mother  says  I  never  crept,  but,  being  one  of  those  cos¬ 
seted  children  brought  up  by  hand,  started  at  once,  by  reason  of 
the  constant  attention  given  me  by  herself,  when  I  was  less  than 
two  years  old,  to  walk,  having  declined  up  to  that  time  to  do 
anything  except  sit  in  her  arms.  The  first  independent  trav¬ 
eling  of  which  I  am  cognizant  was  running  away,  with  that 
primitive  instinct  of  exploration  that  seems  well-nigh  universal. 

(245) 

t 

it  M 

' 


246 


My  Father's  Death. 


Our  overland  trip  to  Wisconsin  in  my  seventh  year,  two 
visits  to  Milwaukee,  the  fair,  lakeside  city,  and  one  to  my  birth- 
place,  comprised  all  the  traveling  done  by  me  until  we  came  to 
Evanston  to  attend  college. 

I  well  remember  the  profound  impression  made  upon  me,  at 
nineteen  years  of  age,  by  the  first  hotel  I  ever  entered  —  the 
Matteson  House,  Chicago.  I  can  not  pass  the  building  that 
now  bears  this  name  without  shuddering  recollections  of  the 
impressive  spectacle  when  we  all  sat  down  to  dinner  at  what  was 
then  one  of  the  chief  hotels  ;  the  waiters  (all  white  men)  standing 
in  solemn  line,  then  at  a  signal,  with  consummate  skill  and  as 
by  “one  fell  swoop,”  inverting  the  covers  on  all  those  huge, 
steaming  dishes,  without  letting  a  drop  fall  on  the  snowy  table, 
and  marching  out  like  a  detachment  of  drilled  soldiers  !  And 
never  did  a  sense  of  my  own  small  size  and  smaller  knowledge 
settle  down  upon  me  quite  so  solidly  as  when  one  of  those  fault¬ 
lessly  attired  gentlemen  in  claw-hammer  coat  and  white  cravat 
asked  me  ‘  ‘  what  I  would  have.  ’  ’  I  glanced  helplessly  at  my 
good  father ;  his  keen  eyes  twinkled,  he  knew  the  man  oppressed 
me  by  his  likeness  to  a  clergyman  ;  he  summoned  him  for  a  con¬ 
ference,  and  chose  my  dinner  for  me.  But  I  was  distressed  for 
fear  I  should  do  something  awkward  under  these  strange  circum¬ 
stances,  ate  almost  nothing,  and  had  a  wretched,  all-overish  sense 
of  being  unequal  to  the  situation.  Helplessly  I  envied  the  fair 
girl  of  sixteen  who  sat  beside  me,  and  was  full  of  merry  quips 
with  father,  and  not  at  all  concerned  about  her  conduct  or  her¬ 
self— my  beautiful  sister  Mary. 

When  we  came  home  from  my  year  as  ‘  ‘  preceptress  ’  ’  in 
Lima,  in  the  spring  of  1867,  we  found  my  dear  father  in  what 
proved  to  be  the  last  stages  of  consumption.  Hoping  that  a  re¬ 
turn  to  his  early  home  and  the  society  of  his  near  relatives  would 
be  beneficial,  Kate  Jackson  and  I  induced  him  to  go  with  us  to 
Churchville,  in  September,  where  he  remained  with  his  only 
brother,  Zophar  Willard,  and  his  youngest  sister,  Mrs.  Caroline 
Town,  until  the  24th  of  January,  1868,  when  his  worn  body  suc¬ 
cumbed  to  its  inexorable  fate,  and  his  triumphant  spirit  wafted 
its  way  to  heaven 

Inasmuch  as  my  father  was  with  his  family  and  had  mother 
to  care  for  him.  I  sought  employment  as  a  teacher  once  more, 


The  Sad  Home-going. 


247 


the  impaired  fortunes  of  our  house  seeming  to  make  this  requisite. 
I  had  secured  a  situation  as  teacher  of  English  Composition  in 
Easell  Female  Seminary,  Auburndale,  Mass.  My  trunks  were 
packed  to  go  there  from  Kate’s  home  in  Paterson,  when  a  letter 
from  mother  made  me  feel  that  my  destiny  did  not  lie  in  that 
direction.  I  therefore  telegraphed  to  father,  “  I  wish  to  come  to 
you  ;  shall  I  not  do  so?  ”  Receiving  his  reply,  “  Come  at  once,” 
Kate  and  I  set  out  for  Churchville,  where  for  two  months  or 
more  my  only  thought  was  to  help  as  best  I  might  in  the  care  of 
my  father,  who  was  confined  to  his  bed,  and  with  whom  mother 
and  I  took  turns  in  watching  for  sixty  nights,  she  having  already, 
with  my  uncle  .  and  aunt,  had  the  care  for  nearly  two  months. 
This  season  of  solemn  vigils  was  the  most  reflective  of  my  life. 
In  the  silence  of  the  night,  how  many  times  I  sang  to  my  father 
the  old  hymns  dear  to  us  at  home,  and  read  or  wrote  while  he 
slept.  The  devotion  of  my  mother  and  of  my  father’s  relatives 
can  not  be  described — it  was  complete.  Our  loyal  friend  Kate 
settled  herself  in  a  quiet  home  across  the  street  and  was  with  us 
daily.  When  the  sad  home-going  came,  she  was  one  of  the  com¬ 
pany.  A  committee  sent  for  the  purpose  met  us  on  the  train 
some  hours  before  we  reached  Chicago,  and  when  we  arrived  in 
Evanston  at  midnight  with  our  precious  burden,  lights  in  the 
homes  of  our  friends  all  along  the  streets  we  traversed,  spoke  elo¬ 
quently  of  the  sympathy  and  thoughtfulness  they  felt  for  us  in 
our  sorrow,  and  our  home  was  bright  with  their  presence  and  the 
manifold  tokens  of  their  loving  care. 

All  that  winter,  mother,  Kate  and  I  kept  house  together.  In 
the  spring  we  went  to  visit  my  brother  Oliver  and  his  family  in 
Appleton,  Wis.,  where  mother  remained,  and  whence  going  to 
New  York,  Kate  and  I  sailed  on  our  long,  adventurous  journey. 

And  now,  to  show  how  it  came  about  that  I  had  the  great 
advantage  of  living,  studying,  and  traveling  abroad  from  May 

1868  to  September  1870,  I  wall  give  a  sketch  of  my  dear  friend, 

1 

KATE  JACKSON. 

On  my  return  from  Pittsburgh  in  the  summer  vacation  of 
1864,  I  went  according  to  my  custom  to  the  regular  prayer¬ 
meeting  in  our  old  church  in  Evanston,  and  participated  accord¬ 
ing  to  my  custom  in  the  exercises.  At  the  close  of  the  meeting 


248 


Katharine  A.  Jackson. 


when  I  greeted  my  true  and  tried  friends,  Dr.  D.  P.  Kidder  and 
family,  I  found  with  them  a  young  lady  wdio  had  been  for  some 
months  their  guest.  Many  years  before,  her  father  had  been  a 
member  of  Dr.  Kidder’s  church,  in  Paterson,  N.  J.,  and  the  two 
families  were  special  friends.  The  young  lady’s  name  wras 
Katharine  A.  Jackson,  and  her  father  was  James  Jackson,  founder, 
and  at  that  time  proprietor,  of  the  New  Jersey  Locomotive  Works. 
He  was  a  self-made  man,  of  great  force  of  character  and  the 
sterling  uprightness  and  energy  of  a  North-of- Ireland  Protestant. 
He  had  built  up  a  fortune  for  himself  and  family,  and  his  daugh¬ 
ter  Kate  had  received  a  careful  education  at  the  Ladies’  Seminary 
in  Wilmington,  Del.,  where  she  was  foremost  as  a  scholar,  having 
a  very  exceptional  gift  for  the  languages,  especially  Latin  and 
French.  She  had  been  the  salutatorian  of  her  class,  and  since 
graduation  had  gone  on  with  her  studies  until  she  was  remarkably 
accomplished  in  her  specialties.  This  young  lady,  not  then  a 
Christian,  nor,  as  it  would  seem,  even  “seriously  disposed,” 
always  declared  that  she  took  a  liking  to  me  on  sight,  or  rather 
on  sound,  for  I  think  it  was  my  simple  and  fearless  testimony  as 
one  who  wished  to  lead  a  Christian  life  that  first  attracted  her,  a 
fact  that  has  always  made  me  thankful. 

Being  of  a  very  enterprising  disposition,  Kate  went  a  year  or 
two  after  her  graduation  away  down  to  Brenham  on  the  Brazos 
River,  Texas,  where  she  taught  French  in  Chapel  Hill  Seminary, 
only  coming  home  when  the  wTar  broke  out.  She  had  lost  her 
mother  early  in  life,  and  for  that  reason  did  not  live  at  home. 

We  were  much  together  that  summer,  and  when  I  assumed 
the  principalship  of  the  Grove  School  in  Evanston,  she,  just  for 
the  novelty  of  it,  assisted  me,  and  gave  much  additional  popu¬ 
larity  to  the  school  by  teaching  French.  When  I  was  chosen 
corresponding  secretary  of  the  American  Methodist  Ladies’  Cen¬ 
tenary  Association,  in  1866,  Miss  Jackson  did  much  writing  for 
me,  and  helped  me  on  in  every  way  she  could  ;  and  when  I  went 
as  preceptress  to  Lima,  N.  Y.,  she  accompanied  me,  having  the 
French  classes  there. 

One  pleasant  day  at  Lima,  she  said,  ‘  ‘  Go  home  with  me  at 
Christmas,  for  I  am  bound  to  coax  my  father  to  agree  that  you 
and  I  shall  make  the  tour  of  Europe.”  I  looked  into  her  face 
with  large-eyed  wonder  and  delight.  To  see  the  countries  of 


My  Benefactors. 


249 


which  I  had  read  so  much,  and  the  homes  and  shrines  of  the 
great  and  good,  had  been  one  of  my  cherished  dreams.  I  thought 
that  its  fulfillment  would  sometime  come  to  me,  but  supposed  it 
would  be  late  in  life. 

When  the  holidays  came,  Kate  and  I  went  to  Paterson,  N.  J. 
A  handsome  carriage  with  a  high-stepping  span  and  coachman 
in  livery  was  at  the  train.  A  gentleman  of  about  sixty  years  of 
age,  with  iron-gray  hair,  shrewd  face  as  keen  as  it  was  generous, 
and  the  slightest  suspicion  of  Scotch-Irish  brogue,  beamed  upon 
us  as  we  approached,  and  welcomed  us  to  his  beautiful  home.  It 
was  James  J  ackson,  a  man  whom  my  long  acquaintance  with  his 
daughter  had  prepared  me  to  admire  and  respect,  and  through 
whose  liberality  I  was  soon  to  have  one  of  the  crowning  blessings 
of  my  life.  He  readily  fell  in  with  the  project  of  his  daughter 
Kate  and  told  me  not  to  feel  in  the  least  under  obligations  to 
himself  or  to  her,  for  he  had  long  desired  that  she  should  go 
abroad,  but  had  never  until  now  found  any  one  with  whom  he 
felt  inclined  to  send  her.  This  gracious  speech  of  the  generous 
gentleman  dispelled  my  scruples,  which,  indeed,  were  not  strong, 
as  Kate  and  I  had  been  for  years  devoted  friends.  And  so  it 
came  about  that  good  James  Jackson  and  his  daughter  are  among 
the  foremost  of  the  beautiful  procession  of  helpful  souls  that  have 
so  many  times  stood  for  me  at  the  parting  of  the  ways  and 
pointed  onward. 

When  we  started  on  the  long  journey,  May  23,  1868,  I  saw 
that  honest,  brotherly  face  with  the  sweet  countenance  of  his 
youngest  daughter,  Carrie,  close  beside  it,  as  the  two  stood  under 
one  umbrella  in  the  soft  May  shower  and  watched  us  as  our 
steamer  parted  from  the  wharf,  we  gazing  on  them  with  loving 
eyes  until  in  the  distance  they  grew  dim  and  faded  out  of  sight. 
That  manly  face  we  never  saw  again.  In  less  than  two  years 
Kate’s  father  had  gone  home  to  heaven. 

PRELIMINARY. 

Previous  to  going  abroad  I  had  visited  my  birthplace  and 
Milwaukee,  as  already  stated,  been  once  to  Pittsburgh,  and  twice 
to  New  England  ;  the  ocean,  Niagara  and  the  White  Mount¬ 
ains  being  all  that  I  had  seen  of  Nature’s  loftiest  mood.  To 
visit  the  Capital  of  our  own  country,  the  only  Eastern  city  that 


250 


Four  Hundred  Fellow-travelers. 


we  had  not  yet  seen,  struck  us  as  eminently  fitting,  and  we  went 
there  just  before  sailing.  Its  glories  fired  our  patriotism  tre¬ 
mendously,  and  nothing  that  we  beheld  beyond  the  sea  was  ever 
admitted  to  be  so  grand  as  the  great  dome  “  where  Fame’s  proud 
temple  shines  afar.”  We  shook  hands  with  President  Johnson 
at  the  White  House  and  were  present,  thanks  to  cards  from 
Hon.  Norman  B.  Judd,  at  one  session  of  the  Impeachment  Court. 
My  former  friend  of  the  Northwestern  Female  College,  Evanston, 
Mrs.  Jane  Eddy  Somers,  now  principal  of  Mt.  Vernon  Seminary, 
was  our  hostess  and  cicerone. 

While  abroad,  we  visited  almost  every  European  capital, 
large  city,  and  specially  interesting  haunt  of  history,  learning 
and  art,  besides  going  north  as  far  as  Helsingfors,  Finland,  east 
as  far  as  the  Volga  banks  in  Russia,  and  Damascus  in  Syria  ; 
making  the  tour  of  Palestine,  and  going  south  far  enough  to  look 
over  into  Nubia  on  earth,  and  up  to  the  Southern  Cross  in  the 
heavens.  In  all  these  journeyings,  so  varied,  difficult  and  dis¬ 
tant,  we  did  not  lose  a  day  through  illness  save  by  my  brief 
attack  in  Denmark,  and  our  comrades  paid  us  the  compliment  of 
saying  that  we  were  “  as  good  travelers  as  men.”  We  traveled 
with  four  hundred  different  persons  during  our  different  trips 
and  had  the  comfort  of  believing  that  we  were  seldom,  if  ever,  an 
incumbrance.  Dr.  Bannister,  through  whose  influence  we  were 
admitted  to  the  rare  advantages  of  going  through  Palestine  in 
the  company  of  a  party  of  distinguished  Christian  scholars,  was 
especially  proud  of  their  verdict  that  we  had  not  hindered  them 
nor  made  any  complaint  throughout  the  trip,  though  it  involved 
hardships  to  us  unheard  of  and 'unknown  until  we  braved  the 
terrors  of  “camping  out.”  My  friend,  Anna  Gordon,  has  esti¬ 
mated  the  distance  traveled,  abroad,  and  since  then  in  the  tem¬ 
perance  work  of  fifteen  years,  with  the  little  flutterings  that 
preceded,  as  making  a  total  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
miles  for  the  poor  little  girl  that  stood  in  the  barn  doorway  and 
thought  she  should  never  see  anybody  nor  go  anywhere  !  But 
the  story  will  best  be  told  from  records  made  when  the  impres¬ 
sions  of  all  we  saw  were  fresh  upon  the  brain  of  one  to  whom  the 
world  was  new.  From  twenty  volumes  scribbled  on  the  spot, 
besides  articles  and  letters,  I  make  the  wholly  inadequate  extracts 
that  follow  : 


Ocean  Horrors. 


251 


So  the  long  dream  was  coming  true,  and  yet,  somehow,  “it  was  not 
like  ”  — how  could  it  be?  The  Ideal  world  can  never  stoop  to  shore  or  sea, 
but  we  are  slow  and  sad  to  find  this  true.  Kate  and  I  looked  into  each 
other’s  faces  ;  “  I  could  cry  this  minute,  but  I  won’t,”  she  said.  And  then 
we  talked  of  the  kind,  shrewd,  grave  face  of  her  generous  father  and  my 
noble  benefactor  ;  of  his  anxious,  pathetic  look  after  us  as  we  started  off  all 
alone  for  strange,  unfriendly  shores,  and  faces  of  other  friends  unknown  as 
yet. 

All  this  while  the  nice  looking  little  waiter,  No.  2,  left-hand  side,  at 
two  o’clock  dinner — was  putting  on  the  dishes,  and  dinner  would  be  ready 
soon.  We  sat  there  silently,  full  of  unusual  thoughts.  Looking  over  the 
passengers  we  were  disappointed  in  them.  They  were  for  the  most  part 
quite  mediocre  in  every  sense — and  probably  they  said  the  same  of  us  !  After 
a  tolerable  dinner  we  went  below  (the  steamer  now  lying  still  waiting  the 
tide),  and  set  our  house  in  order  for  the  voyage,  changed  our  dresses,  and 
were  innocently  and  unapprehensively  putting  the  last  touches  upon  our 
ship-toilets,  when,  lo  !  a  pain  that  was  not  all  a  pain,  but  part  a  prophecy  of 
dreadful  things  to  come,  seized  each  of  us.  Five  minutes  thereafter  I  had 
tumbled  tumultuously  into  berth  No.  1,  at  the  top,  and  was  “  reaching  ”  as 
our  stewardess  calls  it,  and  groaning  with  all  the  more  vehemence  because 
so  suddenly  and  totally  surprised,  for  I  had  calculated  with  certainty  upon 
the  very  opposite  of  this  result.  Kate  lay  in  her  berth  below  me  moaning 
dutifully,  btit  then,  she  had  expected  it.  Well,  for  the  next  two  or  three 
days  I  thought  and  did  unutterable  things.  Sunday  is  a  perfect  blank.  In 
it  I  had  just  this  one  thought :  “  Let  me  lie  still  *  let  me  keep  this  saucy 
diaphragm  in  equipoise.” 

Our  lively  and  unique  companion,  Miss  C.,  of  Columbus,  Ohio,  between 
her  “bad  spells  ”  and  her  tears,  regaled  us  with  exclamations  of  this  charac¬ 
ter  :  “Why  did  n’t  they  tell  me  it  was  this  way  and  I  would  not  have  left 
my  country  !  Oh  !  why  did  n’t  somebody  tell  me  it  was  this  way  ?  ”  empha¬ 
sizing  the  words  with  sounds  more  expressive  than  all  human  language 
could  interpret,  while  listening  to  her  I  laughed  like  one  who  lived  for  laugh¬ 
ter’s  sake  alone.  It  is  idle  to  attempt  recounting  the  horrors  of  this  voyage. 
All  these  notes  I  am  scrawling  on  Sunday,  May  31,  leaning  my  head  against 
the  berth’s  side,  and  dipping  my  pen  from  a  wine  glass,  furnished  by  our 
stewardess,  whom  at  first  we  voted  a  virago,  but  have  now  “  learned  to 
love,”  have  blessed  with  a  sovereign,  and  voted  a  power  in  the  earth. 

June  1. — This  bright  Monday  morning  we  were  a  hilarious  ship's  com¬ 
pany,  for  to-day  we  should  tread  solid  ground  once  more.  We  dressed  “  for 
shore,  ”  packed  our  portmanteau,  and  went  on  deck,  where  blue  and  distant 
loomed  the  longed-for  land.  Keen  indeed  was  our  pleasure  in  the  sight  of  it. 
The  scene  was  charming.  All  about  us  gently  rippled  the  quiet  sea.;  sails 
shone  against  the  far-off,  slate-hued  horizon  ;  birds,  white  and  graceful  of  mo¬ 
tion,  careered  around  us  ;  clouds  lay  anchored  here  and  there  ;  lines  of  dim 
coast  stretched  out  alongside  to  the  left ;  bunting  flew  merrily  aloft  ;  every¬ 
body  was  on  deck  in  better  dress  than  usual  and  with  sunnier  faces ;  the 
sailors  furled  the  hanging  canvas  and  made  all  trim  for  entrance  to  the  har- 


252 


The  Blarney  Stones. 


bor.  And  so  the  first  bright  day  passed  with  talk  and  laughter,  and  toward 
evening  a  tug  shot  out  from  Queenstowm  harbor  and  we  stepped  gingerly 
upon  its  slippery  deck,  endured  its  wretched  accommodations  cheerfully, 
though  rain  began  to  fall  and  wind  to  blow,  until  they  moored  us  alongside 
the  steamer  “  City  of  Cork,”  and  the  inevitable  custom-house  officers  took  us 
in  charge.  They  went  rapidly  through  the  form  of  unlocking  our  trunks, 
while  we  stood  by  unconcerned,  looking  over  the  magnificent  Cove  of  Cork, 
and  wondering  that  it  did  n’t  feel  queer  to  be  in  sight  of  Queenstown  shores. 
Soon  we  sped  across  the  steamer’s  deck,  went  on  shore,  walked  up  strange 
streets,  striking  jubilant  feet  firmly  upon  beloved  terra  firma  ;  peeped  into 
curious  looking  shops,  talking  and  laughing,  half  beside  ourselves  with 
pleasure,  dangerously  amused  at  the  little  donkeys,  almost  delirious  over 
that  intrinsically  ludicrous,  extravagantly  rollicking  contrivance,  an  Irish 
jaunting  car.  And  so  we  reached  the  depot  at  nine  o’clock,  p.  m.,  broad  day¬ 
light  at  that,  and  took  the  cars  for  Cork,  fourteen  miles  away.  We  tried  to 
notice  everything,  even  to  the  shape  of  the  chairs  and  pattern  of  the 
paper  at  the  Queenstown  station;  asked  questions  a  la  Yankee,  and  learned  a 
great  deal  ;  drove  to  the  Imperial  Hotel,  Pembroke  street,  Cork,  had  supper 
at  eleven  o’clock  in  an  elegant  coffee  room,  and  went  to  bed.  In  the  morning 
wre  chartered  a  jaunting  car  for  Blarney  Castle;  rode  enchanted  through 
hedge-bordered  roads  to  the  famous  castle,  kissed  both  the  Blarney  stones 
(a  gentleman  giving  us  pieces  of  the  real  one,  that  we  might  carry  the  spell 
away  with  us)  ;  climbed  to  the  topmost  peak  of  the  castle,  and  went  down 
into  its  dungeons  ;  got  shamrock  from  inside  the  castle,  went  through  Blar¬ 
ney  groves,  and  what  not.  We  then  went  laughing  back  to  Cork,  in  the 
dear,  ridiculous,  old  jaunting  car  ;  wTere  invited  by  friends  to  go  with  them 
to  Killarney,  overland,  one  hundred  miles  by  private  coach.  So  at  ten 
o’clock  we  all  departed  amid  smiles  and  bowrs  of  waiters  and  chamber¬ 
maids  (thinking  of  “gratuities”),  for  the  classic  lake  scenery  of  County 
Kerry. 


SHALL  WE  EVER  GO  ANYWHERE  I  *• 


Itine7'ary. 


253 


itinerary  oe  foreign  travel. 

May  23,  1868. — Sailed  from  New  York  in  steamship  City  of 
Paris,  Inman  Line. 

June  3. — Landed  at  Cork,  Ireland. 

June  3  to  June  13. — Ireland. 

June  13  to  30. — Scotland. 

July  1  to  25. — England. 

July  25  to  29. — Paris,  France  ;  Geneva,  Switzerland. 

July  29  to  September  12. — Geneva  to  Nijni  Novgorod  via  Den¬ 
mark,  Sweden,  Finland,  Russia,  returning  via  Poland  to 
Germany. 

September  12  to  December  20. — Berlin,  Dresden,  Leipsic. 

December  20,  1868  to  June  26,  1869. — Paris. 

June  26  to  July  28. — Belgium,  Holland  and  the  Rhine. 

July  28  to  September  2. — Switzerland. 

September  2  to  January  24,  1870. — Italy. 

January  24. — Sailed  from  Brindisi  for  Alexandria,  Egypt. 

February  1  to  21. — Cairo,  to  the  first  cataract  of  the  Nile  (Island 
Philse)  and  return. 

February  23. — Climbed  the  Pyramid  of  Cheops. 

March  6. — Sailed  from  Port  Said  to  Joppa. 

March  7  to  18. — Jerusalem. 

March  18  to  April  9. — Camped  out  in  Palestine  and  made  a  trip 
to  Damascus  and  Baalbec. 

April  9. — Sailed  from  Beyrout  to  Cyprus,  Smyrna,  Ephesus, 
Athens  and  Constantinople. 

April  29. — Sailed  from  Constantinople  via  Bosphorus,  and  up 
the  Danube  to  Vienna  via  Hungary. 

May  4  to  16. — Vienna  to  Paris. 

June  15. — Paris  to  London,  Southampton,  Isle  of  Wight,  etc. 

July  15. — Returned  to  Paris. 

August  23. — Left  Paris  for  Liverpool. 

August  27. — Sailed  from  Liverpool  in  steamship  City  of  Russia, 
Cunard  Line. 

September  5,  1870. — Arrived  in  New  York. 


254 


His  Lordship. 

THE  GIANT’S  CAUSEWAY. 

A  morning’s  ride  through  broad  and  prosperous  fields  brought 
us  to  the  pretty  village  of  Port  Rush,  with  its  fine  outlook  over 
the  sea  and  far  away.  The  Antrim  Arms  hotel  received  us 
hospitably  and  an  appetizing  dinner  fortified  us  for  the  after¬ 
noon’s  performance. 

Chartering  a  huge  and  jolly  jaunting-car  for  our  party  of  six 
explorers,  we  dashed  off  in  pursuit  of  Nature’s  freakiest  freak. 
Our  road  lay  along  the  shore  but  lifted  high  above  it.  We  looked 
down  to  see  fantastic  carvings  of  the  waves  upon  the  yielding 
rocks.  “Tell  us  everything  you  know,’’  was  our  moderate  in¬ 
junction  to  the  middle-aged  Hibernian  who  held  the  reins,  and  to 
do  this  he  .spared  no  pains. 

“There’s  the  Pope’s  nose  !  ”  he  called  out,  soberly  pointing 
with  his  long  whip  to  this  striking  feature  of  the  Holy  Father’s 
face,  wave-sculptured,  glistening  in  the  sunshine  and  outlined  on 
the  blue-black  ground  of  the  sea.  Our  bright  little  friend,  Willie, 
excelled  us  all  in  his  appreciation  of  this  piece  of  chiseling,  and 
voted  it,  afterward,  worth  the  whole  Causeway. 

“  His  lordship’s  residence  ”  was  pointed  out,  a  fine  country- 
seat,  at  a  distance,  almost  concealed  by  the  trees  (as  is  “exclu¬ 
sively”  done  in  these  aristocratic  regions),  and  a  question  brought 
out  this  brief  “  charcoal  .sketch  ”  of  the  high-born  gentleman  who 
owns  the  “  Giant’s  Causeway.” 

“Sir  Edward’s  not  a  bad  landlord,  only  he  sweeps  every¬ 
thing  away.  Just  runs  down  here  for  money  when  he’s  out,  and 
then  off  again  to  London,  to  spend  it  on  his  pleasures.  But,  ah  ! 
his  steward  is  the  man  we’re  all  in  dread  of.  If  one  of  the  ten¬ 
ants  would  give  him  an  offense  in  the  least  thing,  then  you’d  see 
the  beauties  of  a  free  government !  Out  goes  the  tenant  into  the 
street  after  getting  a  notice  served  on  him  to  quit.  Some  of  us  try 
to  improve  our  little  farms,  but  what  good  is  it  ?  Down  comes  the 
man  they  call  a  “  val-u-^-tor,”  and  because  we’ve  made  them 
worth  so  much  the  more,  on  goes  more  rent  to  keep  us  always 
sweating  away  just  the  very  same  as  our  fathers  did  before  us, 
for  if  we  don’t  pay  the  rent  we  have  nothing  to  do  but  just  tramp 
off  as  fast  as  we  please.  But  Sir  Edward,  he  spends  nothing  at 
all  on  the  soil,  and  we’ve  no  ambition  in  consequence  of  it.” 


“  It  Gives  a  Chance 


255 


“You  must  come  to  our  country  across  the  water,'’  said  we, 
much  interested  in  the  man’s  straightforward  words. 

“  Then,  ah  !  I  knew  you  was  from  America,  Miss,’’  said  he  ; 
“that’s  the  country  where  they’ll  give  a  well-doing  man  a  chance, 
we  all  know  that,  and  we’d  go  there  on  our  hands  and  knees  only 
for  the  water  being  in  the  way  !” 

Palaces,  museums,  picture-galleries  are  fine  things  in  their 
places  ;  sometimes  as  we  wander  over  these  rich  lands  we  con¬ 
trast  their  splendid  treasures  with  our  emptiness  at  home,  and  feel 
a  moment’s  discontent.  But  we  think  of  these  words,  and  are 
too  grateful  for  complaint,  too  proud  for  boasting,  “America’s 
a  county  where  they'll  give  a  well-doing  man  a  chance — we  all 
know  that.  ’  ’ 

About  a  mile  from  the  Causeway,  two  guides  came  trotting 
along  the  road,  anxious  to  enlighten  us  as  to  the  merits  of  the 
case  in  hand,  and  we  engaged  one  as  a  refuge  against  the  other 
and  any  who  might  subsequently  present  themselves. 

“  Will  you  please  look  over  my  book  of  recommends?  ’’  said 
John  McLaughlin,  the  chosen  of  our  judgment,  hanging  on  pre¬ 
cariously  to  our  rapid  car,  and  we  examined  sundry  soiled  auto¬ 
graphs  of  tourists,  noble  and  otherwise,  all  of  whom  concurrently 
attested  the  varied  virtues  of  the  said  John  in  his  capacity  of 
guide. 

“Indeed,  I’m  the  man  that  Harper  says  ye  ought  to  have,  in 
his  fine  leather-covered  book,’’  quoth  he,  winking  triumphantly 
at  his  disappointed  rival,  who  whined  out,  “It’s  my  turn,  any¬ 
how,  and  I’ll  be  even  with  ye  yet.’’ 

We  dismounted  in  front  of  John’s  cottage,  the  tonguey  owner 
thus  introducing  it :  “Ye  must  know,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  that 
I  have  the  honor  to  live  in  the  house  fartherest  north  of  any  in 
old  Ireland.  Here  I  have  lived  for  twenty  years,  and  a  snug 
place  it  is,  as  ye  all  see.” 

Not  altogether  unattractive  looked  the  man’s  home,  with 
white-washed  walls,  and  grass  and  trees  about  it.  Not  far  off, 
around  the  curving  crags,  we  came,  by  diligent  and  dangerous 
scrambling  in  a  down-liill  direction,  upon  a  cove,  where  tossing 
upon  the  restless  waves  was  a  small  boat  in  which  we  embarked 
for  a  general  in-look  on  the  Causeway.  Four  oarsmen  had  the 
boat  in  charge,  and  with  tossings  and  dippings  not  conducive  to 


256 


Almost  Disappointed. 


content  on  the  part  of  the  timid,  nor  to  interior  tranquility  in 
those  of  dizzy  head  and  squeamish  stomach,  we  put  to  sea,  while 
John  McLaughlin,  oblivious  to  fears  or  qualms  uttered  or  unex¬ 
pressed,  proceeded  with  great  fluency  to  give  the  following  “  true 
history  of  Giant’s  Causeway.”  “  Ye  must  know,  ladies  and  gen¬ 
tlemen,  that  long  and  long  ago  it  was,  we  had  here  in  Ireland  a 
giant,  the  like  of  which  was  never  before  seen  nor  will  be  seen 
again.  His  name  was  Fin  McCaul,  and  what  he  could  n’t  do 
nobody  else  need  try.  It  so  happened  that  at  the  same  time 
they  had  in  Scotland  another  giant,  a  tremendous  fellow  and 
jealous  of  our  Fin,  as  a  matter  of  course.  Well,  this  Scotch 
fellow  sent  word  to  Fin  that  the  only  reason  he  did  n’t  come  and 
fight  him  was,  there  was  no  bridge  across.  So  what  does  Fin  do 
but  falls  to  work  right  immediately  and  all  his  servants  with  him, 
and  they  make  the  genteelest  road  (or  ‘  causeway  ’  as  they  used 
to  say  in  old  times)  from  here  to  the  other  side.  Then  they  had 
their  matched  fight,  and  you  may  be  sure  Fin  did  n’t  leave  a  whole 
shred  of  the  other  fellow,  but  pounded  him  up  fine,  and  that 
was  the  last  of  him.  So  then  when  there  was  no  use  of  it  any 
more,  in  the  course  of  time  the  Causeway  sank  into  the  sea,  and 
there’s  nothing  left  of  it  now  but  some  remains  on  the  far  side, 
called  Fingal’s  Cave,  and  this  here  that  you  can  see  for  your¬ 
selves.  This  is  just  the  very  same  as  it  was  in  his  day,  and  when 
the  sea  is  still  you  can  notice  it  going  out  into  the  water  as  far  as 
you  can  see  at  all.” 

Highly  instructed  and  entertained  by  this  historical  account, 
we  viewed  with  increased  interest  the  outlines  of  this  astonishing 
piece  of  engineering,  though  its  general  appearance,  at  this  dis¬ 
tance,  hardly  met  our  expectations.  Indeed,  some  of  us  vocifer¬ 
ously  informed  the  imperturbable  exhibitor  that  it  did  n’t  pay  to 
be  tossed  about  in  this  fhshion,  and  risk  one’s  life  in  the  bargain, 
just  to  see  some  sloping,  irregular  rocks,  stretching  for  some  dis¬ 
tance  along  the  shore.  “  Gentlemen  and  ladies  have  many  times 
observed  the  same  to  me,  madam,”  he  replied,  touching  his  old 
blue  cap,  “but  I  just  get  them  to  wait  a  bit,  and  afterwards  they 
look  upon  it  quite  different  to  that.” 

The  name-worthy  heights  and  depths  before  us  were  now  duly 
indicated  and  described,  a  geography  lesson  “  with  illustrations” 
worth  talking  about.  We  declined  to  row  into  Portcoon  Cave,  the 


Expectations  Realized . 


25  7 


waves  being  so  high  that  our  neads  must  inevitably  be  bumped 
against  its  roof,  a  tribute  we  would  not  pay  even  for  a  new  sensa¬ 
tion.  “The  Steckan,”  or  chimney-tops,  a  couple  of  tall,  con¬ 
spicuous  rocks,  were  pointed  out  with  the  story  that  when  the 
Spanish  Armada  passed  this  coast  they  fired  upon  these  rocks 
through  some  misapprehension,  and  that  right  here,  some  of  its 
ships  going  to  pieces,  the  organ  upon  which  King  Philip  said  his 
Te  Deum  should  be  played  in  Westminster  Abbey  (after  the  vic¬ 
tor  that  he  did  n’t  win)  came  ashore  and  was  conveyed  to  Trinity 
College,  Dublin,  where  we  had  seen  it  within  a  day  or  two.  We 
now  returned  to  land,  having  as  yet  but  a  dim  notion  of  the  great 
sight  we  had  taken  so  much  pains  to  see.  Of  our  disappoint¬ 
ment  our  guide  was  made  repeatedly  aware,  but  he  bided  his  time 
with  an  air  of  superior  wisdom  inspiring  to  behold,  and  profound 
faith  in  the  ultimate  triumph  of  the  great  show  over  whose  won¬ 
ders  he  had  so  long  presided.  Marshaling  us  in  line,  he  led  us 
up  steep  rocks  and  along  devious  wa}^s,  to  inspect  narrowly  the 
Giant’s  Road.  From  that  time  forth,  our  progress  partook  of  the 
character  of  an  ovation.  How  very  thoughtful  everybody  seemed ! 
Here  came  a  young  Hibernian  of  impecunious  aspect,  who  urged 
on  our  acceptance  his  collection  of  stereoscopic  views  illustrative 
of  scenery  hereabouts.  Each  one  of  the  four  boatmen  presented 
a  little  box  of  pebbles,  crystals,  shells,  “  Picked  up  right  here  at 
the  Causeway,  sir.”  Half  a  dozen  ragged  urchins,  none  of  them 
over  half  a  dozen  years  old,  clamored  for  us  to  accept  their  her¬ 
bariums  of  sea-weed,  their  curious  bits  of  stone,  their  printed 
“guides,”  their  gathered  flowers. 

“Ye’ll  do  as  ye  like,”  whispered  the  crafty  McLaughlin 
with  an  air  of  great  disinterestedness,  “  I  don’t  say  but  what  all 
these  poor  things  have  is  very  good,  but,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  think 
ye’ll  do  better  to  look  over  me  own  assortment  at  the  house  when 
we’ve  done  here.” 

Now  we  began  to  see  that  what  we  came  to  see  was  surely 
worth  the  seeing.  We  stepped  upon  the  Causeway,  its  surface  at 
the  edge  being,  save  for  irregularities,  quite  like  an  incipient 
Nicholson  pavement ;  traversed  its  whole  extent  (made  up,  some 
careful  counter  says,  of  four  thousand  columns  set  side  by  side), 
and  every  moment  the  wonder  grew  upon  us  that  purest  nature 
could  so  mimic  purest  art.  A  monstrous  puzzle  it  must  all  be, 
17 


258 


“  The  Wishing  Well.17 

which  some  well-instructed  giant  hand  might  take  apart ;  or 
else  a  honey-comb  of  the  Olympian  gods,  gone  gray  with  age 
and  hardened  into  stone. 

On  we  went,  over  the  ends  of  those  most  curious  columns, 
which  extended,  nobody  knew  how  far  below  us,  now  stepping 
up,  now  down,  as  the  arrangement  of  the  surface  varied,  for  the 
appearance  everywhere  is  startlingly  like  that  of  intention,  as  if 
the  great  artificer  had  turned  aside  to  rest  a  little  while,  leaving 
his  carefully  wrought  plan  to  be  completed  on  his  return. 

I  have  no  wish  to  attempt  a  description  in  the  abstract,  but  to 
relate  in  the  concrete  what  we  saw,  and  how  we  saw  it,  hence  it 
becomes  essential  to  confess  that  for  thought  deeply  interesting  to 
the  observer  and  inspired  by  the  peculiarities  of  his  surroundings, 
we  had  little  peace.  Our  retinue  of  pests  increased  in  geometric 
ratio  as  we  proceeded  ;  we  reached  “The  Well,”  a  several-sided 
indentation,  whence  an  old  man  with  a  ready  cup  dipped  water 
for  us,  drinking  which  we  were  to  “  wish  a  wish,”  which  in  a  year 
was  surely  to  “come  true.”  A  crowd  of  witnesses  surrounded 
us  as  we  went  through  this  ceremony  and  silently  chose  our 
choicest  wish,  with  as  much  sincerity  as  if  we  had  believed  the 
story  of  its  prospective  fulfillment ;  and  while  it  was  in  our 
thoughts,  the  dear,  sacred,  mystical  desire,  a  ruthless,  wrinkled 
hand  thrust  before  us  a  bunch  of  dripping  sea-weed  and  the  old 
woman  owner  of  both  exhorted  us  to  buy,  with  this  clinching 
argument,  “The  nobility  and  gentry,  they  always  buys  of  me  !  ” 

At  the  same  time,  bright  little  Jessie  P.  was  assailed  by  an 
itinerant  shell  dealer  with  his  flattering  unction,  “  Indade,  darlint, 
yer  have  the  most  illegant  foot  that  ever  came  upon  the  Cause¬ 
way  in  my  time,  and  I’ve  been  here  since  ever  I  can  remember 
anything  at  all.”  And  she  was  a  Chicago  girl  ! 

O11  we  labored,  perseveringly,  until  we  reached  the  “Wish¬ 
ing  Chair,  ”  a  depression  formed  by  the  removal  of  a  section  or  two 
of  these  carefully-fitted  stones,  and  a  most  unluxurious  seat.  We 
were  now  introduced  to  what  the  guide  called  “  The  Particular 
Stones,”  those  of  shapes  less  frequent  than  the  four,  five  and  six- 
sided,  which  make  up  the  body  of  the  Causeway.  There  are 
septagons  and  octagons,  two  nonagons  and  a  single  triangle  among 
all  the  one  thousand  stony  illustrations  of  geometry  that  make 
up  the  vast  structure.  Specimens  of  every  style  having  been 


The  Causeway  Financially  Considered. 


259 


examined  and  a  tiny  piece  of  the  triangle  hammered  off  (strictly 
“  by  permission  ”),  we  next  analyzed  in  cursory  sort  the  back¬ 
ground  of  the  picture,  the  tall  basaltic  columns  that  rear  them¬ 
selves  farther  from  the  sea,  behind  the  shelving  floor  that  we  had 
thus  far  trodden.  One  of  these  is  sixty-three  feet  high  above  the 
surface  of  the  ground.  How  far  it  may  extend  beneath,  the 
wisest  can  not  estimate.  In  one  of  the  columns,  of  which  we  got 
a  long  profile  view  instead  of  the  mere  surface  one  seen  in  the 
foreground  of  the  Causeway,  there  are  thirty-eight  different 
pieces,  all  fitted  with  the  nicest  accuracy,  but  each  so  separate 
from  that  above  and  below  itself,  that  an  arm  strong  enough 
could  unjoint  the  whole  column  as  children  do  toy  steeples  made 
of  spools. 

“  The  Giant’s  Loom  Post,”  is  a  splendid  tower  made  up  this 
way,  standing  out  in  strong  relief,  but  not  facing  the  sea,  and 
hence  invisible  in  general  views.  Here  the  old  Road  Builder  was 
wont  to  spin,  including  that  effeminate  accomplishment  among 
numerous  more  weighty  ones.  His  organ,  splendid  but  tune¬ 
less  in  its  basaltic  pipes,  stands  opposite.  The  jack-stones  v/ith 
which  he  was  fond  of  playing  in  intervals  of  labor,  the  prints  of 
his  huge  knees  made  while  enjoying  this  game  ;  the  fan  mosaicked 
by  him  in  his  road  for  a  lady  admired  and  admiring,  and,  incon¬ 
gruously,  perhaps,  the  pulpit  whence  he  sometimes  preached,  all 
were  pointed  out  and  served  the  guide  as  reminders  of  anecdotes, 
sometimes  witty,  often  dull,  always  related  with  an  air  of  deep 
conviction,  and  listened  to  in  a  similar  spirit,  by  me,  at  least. 
Our  expressions  of  appreciation  satisfied  him  fully  at  last,  and  he 
begged  permission  to  pack  and  send  to  Liverpool  for  shipment  to 
the  land  of  lands,  at  least  one  specimen  joint  apiece  for  us,  from 
those  unclassified  fossil  remains.  Pentagons  were  dear,  octagons 
at  a  premium,  but  hexagons  could  be  had,  I  think,  of  ordinary 
size  (say  a  foot  or  two  in  length  and  four  to  six  inches  in  diameter) 
for  the  paltry  sum  of  eight  or  ten  golden  dollars.  We  began  to 
wonder  whether  Lord  Antrim,  or  Sir  Edward  (whose  income  is 
set  down  as  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  annually), 
had  farmed  out  the  eighth  wonder  of  the  world,  but  we  remain 
ignorant  on  that  score. 

We  returned  from  the  “  Grand  ”  across  the  “  Honey-Comb  ” 
and  “  Well  ”  causeway  (the  three  divisions  which  are  yet  undi- 


26o 


Eden's  Garden. 


vided,  being  designated  thus).  “A  belemnite  and  two  ammon¬ 
ites  and  all  for  one  half  crown  !  ”  screamed  a  little  ne’er-do-weel 
who  might  have  offered  herself  as  a  specimen  Bedlamite  with 
some  propriety,  as  she  outskipped  her  comrades  and  presented  her¬ 
self  prominently  beside  us.  Terms  so  geological  from  a  young 
nondescript  like  that,  seemed  whimsical  enough. 

Along  the  crag-bordered  road  we  walked  as  evening  fell, 
breathing  the  vivid  ocean  air,  a  straggling  procession  at  our 
heels,  through  whose  clutches  we  had  passed  unscathed. 

We  gathered  for  ourselves  sweet  flowers  with  faces  strange 
and  new,  and  then  rode  homeward  in  the  shadow  of  the  lime¬ 
stone  cliffs,  with  outlook  on  the  far,  mysterious  sea. 

MY  TRIP  TO  THK  GARDEN  OF  EDEN. 

‘  ‘  The  gentle  reader  ’  ’  will  surely  be  decoyed  by  such  a  head¬ 
ing  into  a  perusal  of  my  first  sentence.  But  my  conscience  drives 
me  to  the  avowal  that  I  have  in  mind  only  some  notes  of  an 
excursion  to  the  Isle  of  Wight.  I  realize  the  duplicity  of  trying 
to .  sail  into  the  uncertain  harbor  of  ‘  ‘  the  public  ear  ’  ’  on  false 
pretenses.  England  calls  its  pet  island  “Eden’s  Garden,’’  but 
the  mother-land  is  so  fair  that  I  should  hesitate  to  give  the  palm 
to  a  daughter  even  so  lovely  as  this.  We  landed  at  Cowes, — the 
paradise  of  yachtsmen, — rumbled  through-  its  narrow  streets  on 
top  of  an  omnibus,  overgrown  and  overcrowded,  to  Newport. 

Eeaving  Newport,  we  jogged  on  to  the  pretty  little  town  of 
Carisbrooke,  whence  we  walked  up  to  the  castle,  the  more  active 
of  our  party  making  its  circuit,  and  finding  every  lonesome  room 
haunted  by  thoughts  of  Good  Queen  Bess  and  stubborn,  unfort¬ 
unate  King  Charles  I.  A  young  woman  of  quite  literary  aspect, 
with  a  wise  looking  book  under  her  arm ,  opened  the  wicket  for 
us,  and  we  thought  her  an  obliging  tourist  till  she  took  the  prof¬ 
fered  coin,  so  seldom  refused  in  Her  Majesty’s  dominions,  and 
told  us  how  to  “do’’  the  fine  old  ruin.  But,  somehow,  after 
Netley  Abbey,  Carisbrooke  seemed  tame  and  too  far  gone  for 
much  enthusiasm.  What  I  shall  remember  longest  is  its  fort¬ 
ress  well — excavated  in  forgotten  centuries  to  a  depth  of  three 
hundred  feet  or  more — from  whose  black  abyss  the  most  forlorn, 
demented-looking  donkey  I  ever  saw  drew  a  full  bucket  for  us 
by  toddling  along  a  great  wheel  in  tread-mill  fashion. 


“ Far  from  the  Madding  Crowd.” 


261 


Going  to  Carisbrooke  village,  near  by,  we  had  a  homely, 
but  most  toothsome  English  dinner  at  the  Bugle  Hotel.  The 
mistress  of  the  house  waited  on  us  herself,  cutting  the  ‘  ‘  half¬ 
gallon  loaf,  ’  ’  and  telling  us  she  once  saw  Tennyson  :  ‘  ‘  that  is,  an 
ordinary  looking  man  passed  by,  and  afterward  somebody  said 
‘he’d  wrote  a  book  about  a  sailor  that  went  off  and  got  ship¬ 
wrecked,  and  when  he  came  back,  his  wife  was  married  again.’  ” 
She  always  thought  the  person  that  pointed  this  man  out  to  her 
called  his  name  Venison!  Over  the  midday  meal  our  party  de¬ 
cided  upon  a  separation.  Four  of  them  openly  declared  their 
indifference  to  the  “  Dairyman’s  Daughter”  and  all  the  haunts 
pertaining  to  her,  and  expressed  their  fixed  determination  ‘  ‘  to 
see  the  inside  of  Osborne  ’  ’  if  money  would  purchase  that  beatific 
vision.  But  Kate  and  I  decided  on  the  daughter  of  the  dairy¬ 
man,  so,  complying  with  the  suggestion  of  our  landlady,  we 
chartered  “  our  vicar’s  chaise,  and  the  nice,  stiddy  young  man 
that  drives  it,”  and  off  we  bowled  through  the  shadiest  and  love¬ 
liest  of  lanes.  Of  all  the  hamlets  that  English  authors  set  before 
us,  or  pensive  fancy  conjures  when  we  read  about  the  mother¬ 
land,  this  of  Arreton,  at  which  we  soon  arrived,  seems  to  me  the 
most  perfect  fulfillment  of  one’s  ideal.  What  a  good  and  igno¬ 
rant  life  one  might  here  lead  !  How  distant  from  the  pleasures, 
sins,  and  numberless  amenities  of  this  our  wide,  wide  world ; 
‘‘so  near  and  yet  so  far”  from  all  that  pains  and  pleases  on 
the  turbulent,  but  buoyant  sea  of  art,  business  and  politics,  that 
we  call  life  !  What  a  host  of  intricate  relationships  to  the  world 
we  touch  at  points  so  many  and  so  varied,  are  brushed  aside  like 
cobwebs,  as  one  enters  the  still  graveyard  where  simple  Elizabeth 
Walbridge  has  slept  so  sweetly  and  so  long  ! 

In  the  cool  shade  of  the  gray  and  friendly  church — the  very 
quaintest  in  the  kingdom — how  many  a  fitful  fever  has  been 
quenched  ;  and  looking  far  above  its  dim  old  spire  into  the  quiet 
heavens,  what  downlike  peace  has  fallen  into  tumultuous  hearts  ! 
If  one  should  ask  me  the  place  of  all  that  I  have  seen  in  my  rest¬ 
less  wanderings  over  the  earth  which  lent  itself  most  readily  to 
sober  second  thought — the  place  where  one  could  be  most  truly 
‘‘in  but  not  of”  this  world;  did  any  seek  the  sanctuary  of  a 
silence  sacred,  but  not  terrible  ;  of  a  serenity  profound  as  that 
which  glorifies  the  brows  undreaded  death  has  touched,  yet  sweet 


262 


The  D airy  man' s  Daughter. 


and  human  as  the  smile  upon  a  sleeping  baby’s  face — I  would 
point  him  to  this  tree-embosomed  hamlet.  Here  the  invisible 
spirit’s  breath  alone  seems  to  stir  the  quiet  leaves,  and  the  very 
sunshine  is  toned  and  tempered  as  one  sees  it  not  elsewhere. 
The  clustered  homes  look  as  if  they  had  grown  here,  like  the 
trees  which  hide  them  ;  one’s  fancy  can  not  make  itself  believe 
that  ever  sound  of  hammer  or  of  saw  was  heard  in  a  retreat  so 
still.  The  solemn  church  has  a  look  so  venerable,  one  well 
might  believe  it  a  feature  of  the  scene  as  natural  as  the  bowlders 
on  the  highway. 

Around  it  the  silent  graveyard  stretched  its  quiet  shadows 
on  that  still  summer  noon.  A  little  child,  not  six  years  old,  was 
playing  near  the  roadside  as  we  alighted  from  the  carriage,  and 
at  a  sign  from  the  “stiddy  young  man,”  she  conducted  us  to  the 
church -yard,  walking  demurely  down  the  narrow  lane  before  us, 
finger  in  mouth,  and  looking  a  strange,  elfish  little  guide,  as  she 
threaded  her  way  among  the  thickly  strewn  graves,  guided  us  to 
the  rear  of  the  church,  quite  under  the  shadow  of  its  solemn 
walls,  crossed  a  small  bit  of  sunlit  sward,  and  stood  beside  a 
plain  white  headstone  much  larger  than  herself.  Resting  her 
hand  upon  it,  she  pointed  to  the  name  we  sought  and  senten- 
tiously  observed,  “That’s  it.”  Beside  the  grave  were  two 
others — that  of  the  parents  and  sister  of  good  Leigh  Richmond’s 
heroine — the  parents  without  tombstones,  those  of  the  two  sisters 
having  been  secured  by  public  subscription.  Nothing  could  be 
simpler  than  these  little  monuments  ;  and  Leigh  Richmond’s 
epitaph  written  for  that  of  the  “  Dairyman’s  Daughter”  is  very 
touching  and  appropriate. 

I  brought  away  with  me  a  dandelion  that  was  growing  on 
the  grave  I  came  to  see,  for  I  thought  jt  a  fit  emblem,  with  its 
modest  stem  and  globe  of  gold,  of  the  lowly  life  which  yet  was 
glorified  by  some  of  the  loveliest  beams  that  make  bright  the  Sun 
of  Righteousness. 

The  gray-haired  sexton  came  across  the  little  meadow  to 
show  us  the  old  church,  in  whose  plain  and  unadorned  interior 
he  seemed  to  take  fully  as  much  pride  as  the  elegant  beadle  of 
unmatched  York  Minster  evinces  in  his  own  especial  charge. 
“There  his  some  very  hold  brass  in  the  chancel,  ladies,  you 
really  bought  n’t  to  miss  of  seein’  hit,”  he  said,  touching  his  old 


The  Sorrowing  Queen. 


263 


straw  hat.  But  we  anticipated  seeing  so  much  “brass,”  ancient 
and  modern,  in  that  museum  of  antiquities  called  “Europe,”  that 
we  declined,  to  the  evident  disgust  of  the  exhibitor. 

Reluctantly  we  turned  away  from  Arreton  hamlet—  the  ideal 
home  of  a  Rip  Van  Winkle  sleep — and  told  our  “stiddy  young 
man  who  drives  the  vicar’s  carriage”  to  take  us  next  to  the  cot¬ 
tage  of  the  dairyman.  But  that  worthy  felt  called  upon  to  reason 
with  us  in  this  wise:  “Hit’s  a  long  ways  off — three  good  miles 
there  and  back  ;  and  I’m  persuaded  you’d  miss  the  six  o’clock 
boat  for  Southampton  that  I’ve  given  you  my  word  you  should 
be  in  time  for.  Then  again  hit’s  nothing  to  see,  I  assure  you, 
ladies — being  as  common  a  cottage  as  there  is  on  the  whole  island. 
I  can  show  you  many  a  one  like  it.  And,  besides,  you  could  n’t 
get  in  if  you  went ;  for  the  present  proprietor  don’t  like  troubling 
himself  for  visitors,  and  it  was  recently  a  question  of  pulling  the 
hold  thing  down  altogether.”  We  ranged  ourselves  as  usual  on 
different  sides  of  the  argument — Kate  the  conservative,  I  the 
radical ;  she  cautious,  I  adventurous  ;  she  saying,  “We  must  n’t 
miss  the  boat,”  and  I,  “  But  we  must  see  the  cottage.”  How¬ 
ever,  with  two  against  one,  it  is  manifest  who  gained  the  day  ; 
we  drove  off  regretfully  to  join  our  friends  at  Osborne — the 
‘  ‘  stiddy  young  man,  ’  ’  true  to  his  word,  pointing  out  a  cottage 
now  and  then  with  his  long  whip  and  turning  toward  me  with 
his  squint  eyes,  saying,  “Hit’s  very  like  the  dairyman’s,  I  do 
assure  you,  Miss,  only  far  prettier,  and  better  worth  your  while.” 
Alas,  for  those  to  whom  a  primrose  is  a  primrose  only  ! 

We  looked  down  the  cool  vista  of  Osborne  from  “without 
the  gate,”  and  were  glad  that  within  a  home  so  sheltered  and  so 
noble  the  lonesome  queen  can  shut  herself  from  the  obtrusive 
world,  and  hide  her  wound  as  does  the  stricken  deer  in  the  deep 
wilderness  ;  and  as  we  went  our  restless  way  we  mused  upon  the 
lesson  to  be  gleaned  from  the  reflection  that  the  saddest  woman  in 
England’s  realm  wears  England’s  crown  upon  her  head,  and  lives, 
sometimes,  at  least,  in  its  “  Garden  of  Eden.” 

It  was  a  great  transition  to  find  myself  next  day  swinging  in 
the  globe  at  the  top  of  St.  Paul’s  Cathedral  spire  in  London — im¬ 
pelled  to  a  gymnastic  feat  so  senseless  by  the  declaration  of  a 
young  Boston  snob,  that  “No  woman  had  done  this,  or  could,  or 
should.” 


264 


En  Route  for  St,  Bernard. 


THE  MONKS  AND  DOGS  OF  ST.  BERNARD. 

It  was  the  twenty-seventh  day  of  August,  1869.  The  Doc¬ 
tor  “did  n’t  think  ’twould  pay  to  climb  such  a  tall  hill  just  to 
see  a  few  dogs  and  some  monks,  ’  ’  and  his  wife  was  not  physically 
able,  so  we  three  insatiables,  Kate,  Sophie  and  I,  gladly  accepted 
the  invitation  of  Messrs.  Smith  and  Jones  to  take  the  long- 
desired  excursion  in  their  company.  We  did  our  best  to  get  up 
and  off  early,  but  it  was  half-past  seven  before  ourselves,  our 
bags,  guide-books  and  umbrellas  were  all  fairly  stowed  away 
in  a  carriage  meant  for  four.  We  drove  six  hours  along  a  well- 
built  road,  through  scenery  much  finer  than  we  had  looked  for 
on  this  pass  which  the  books  feel  called  upon  to  characterize  as 
inferior  to  most  other  Alpine  heights.  We  did  not  at  all  agree  to 
this,  particularly  Mr.  Jones,  who  was  in  a  sort  of  fine  frenzy  all  the 
way — only  Mr.  Jones  is  dry  in  manner,  and,  like  a  glacier  river, 
apt  to  burst  forth  “on  a  sudden.’’  The  villages  we  traversed  far 
surpassed  in  age,  dirt,  narrowness,  and  direct  antagonism  to  their 
natural  surroundings,  all  that  had  preceded  them  in  our  two 
months’  observation  of  Switzerland.  At  Orsieres  we  spent  a 
spare  half  hour  in  the  curious  old  church,  which  has  a  crucifixion 
quite  too  sanguinary  and  awful  to  be  long  looked  upon,  and  a 
contribution-box  with  a  jingling  bell  attached,  which  Mr.  Smith 
shook  in  our  faces,  with  his  great  laugh,  frightening  us  lest  priest 
or  sexton  should  appear.  Nobody  was  present,  though,  except 
two  sober-faced  little  girls,  who  said  that  they  had  come  to  pray, 
and  who  responded  in  pretty,  serious  fashion,  to  Kate’s  shower  of 
French  interrogations. 

There  were  quaint  and  curious  explanations  written  in  a 
hand  like  our  .grandfathers’,  on  paper  yellow  as  theirs,  of  the 
dim,  but  tawdry  pictures  on  the  wall,  stating  that  certain  purga¬ 
torial  exemptions  might  be  reasonably  hoped  for  by  the  faithful 
who  should  repeat  in  front  of  them  a  certain  number  of  Aves 
and  Paternosters.  There  was  also  a  huge  eye  painted  in  water- 
colors,  likewise  an  ear,  and  a  hand  holding  a  pen,  under  which, 
respectively,  were  written,  “The  Eye  that  sees  all  !  ’’  “The  Ear 
that  hears  all  !  ’’  “The  Hand  that  writes  all  !  ”  This,  perhaps, 
is  good — for  peasants.  I  was  indignant  at  the  contrast  between 
the  bedizened  wall  and  the  high,  stiff,  narrow  seats  for  the  hum¬ 
ble  congregation.  It  seemed  curious,  in  such  squalid  villages, 


Oft  Na poleon  ’  s  Tra  il . 


265 


to  come  upon  Latin  inscriptions  over  the  houses,  but  these  were 
numerous,  also  saintly  symbols  and  monograms.  Great  crosses 
spread  their  sheltering  arms  along  the  roadside,  almost  always 
with  inscriptions,  of  which  the  most  impressive  was,  “  Cruel 
fide l is  inter  omnes.  ’  ’ 

Erelong  we  struck  the  trail  of  the  great  Napoleon — that  is, 
its  palpable  remains.  Mr.  Jones  kept  a  bright  lookout,  for  he 
thinks  there  never  was  but  one  man,  and  his  initials  were  N.  B. 
The  old,  broken-down  bridge  by  which  the  ‘  ‘  greatest  captain  of 
his  own  or  any  other  age”  crossed  this  deep  gorge,  is  near  the 
ancient  village  of  St.  Pierre,  and  a  tavern  hard  by  is  called  the 
“  Hotel  of  Napoleon’s  Breakfast.” 

I  went  back  in  thought  to  my  old  “  McGuffey’s  Third 
Reader”  and  the  rough  Wisconsin  school-house,  wdiere  I  first 
studied  out  its  account  of  the  great  warrior’s  passage  here,  and 
gazed  upon  its  rude  wood-cut  of  David’s  splendid  equestrian  pict¬ 
ure,  which  I  saw  last  year  in  the  palace  of  Frederick  the  Great. 
I  linked  the  present  and  the  past  by  a  strong  effort  of  imagina¬ 
tion,  and  repeopled  the  silent  cliffs  and  valleys  with  the  invincible 
army  of  thirty  thousand  men,  and  the  dauntless  leader  who  said, 
“  Is  the  route  practicable  ?  ”  and  being  answered,  “  It  is  not,  per¬ 
haps,  impassable,”  cried,  “  Move  forward  the  legions  !  ”  and  a  few 
days  later  won  Marengo  and  lost  Desaix.  To  my  unskilled  eyes 
the  route  did  not  appear  so  difficult  as  I  had  fancied,  but  it  was 
August,  that  was  May,  and  snow  blocked  up  the  passage  and  be¬ 
numbed  the  troops.  Yet  even  Mr.  Jones,  the  hero-worshiper, 
who  would  have  followed  to  the  bitter  end  the  leader  whom 
Madame  de  Remusat  does  not  love,  admitted  that  it  “  did  n’t 
really  look  so  dreadful  as  he  had  hoped  it  would.” 

At  a  lonely  wayside  inn  we  left  the  carriage,  and  Kate  and 
Sophie  took  mules  while  I  went  on  foot  with  the  two  gentlemen. 
Kate’s  muleteer  was  a  handsome  fellow  with  a  mouth  gleaming 
in  ivory,  and  a  tongue  which  proved  that  perpetual  motion  is  no 
impossibility.  As  a  peasant  woman  with  fantastic  head-piece, 
passed  on  her  way  to  church,  he  remarked  in  French,  “  Men  are 
not  good  at  prayer,  no  more  have  they  the  time  ;  they  leave  it  to 
their  wives.  Women’s  eyes  are  always  fixed  on  the  sky,  but 
men’s  eyes  are  rooted  to  the  ground.”  As  he  said  this,  he  saluted 
the  woman  and  exclaimed,  “  Pray  for  us  husbands.’ 


266 


Excelsior . 


The  way  was  enlivened  by  interesting  talk,  and  I  forgot  to 
change  with  Sophie  at  the  place  agreed  upon,  but  climbed  upward 
on  foot  in  the  sudden  twilight  toward  the  famous  home  of  animals 
of  whose  noble  deeds  men  might  be  proud,  and  of  men  whose 
saintly  lives  recall  that  of  the  Master  who  pleased  not  Himself. 
The  way  grew  very  dreary,  the  chill  in  the  air  seemed  to  pene¬ 
trate  our  bones  ;  bare,  gray  and  pitiless  rose  the  cliffs  on  every 
* 

hand,  and  the  eternal  snows  seemed  not  a  .stone’s  throw  distant. 
Travelers  of  all  nations  passed  us  on  this  strange  road  where 
nature  was  so  pallid  and  so  cold  ;  quick-footed  young  pedestrians 
from  England,  leisurely  gray-mustached  French  gentlemen  on 
horseback,  fat  German  ladies  in  chairs  borne  by  two  stout-armed 
peasants,  delicate-featured  Americans,  the  women  riding,  the  men 
lightly  walking  at  their  sides.  On  we  climbed,  while  Mr.  Smith 
impelled  our  flagging  steps  by  an  explosive  recitation  of  Long¬ 
fellow’ s  “Excelsior,”  the  scene  of  which  is  here.  Around  a 
sharp,  rocky  bend,  up  an  ascent  as  steep  as  a  house  roof,  past  an 
overhanging  precipice,  I  went,  leaving  the  gentlemen  behind  me, 
in  the  enthusiasm  of  the  approach,  and  then  the  gray,  solemn, 
friendly  walls  of  the  great  Hospice,  which  had  seemed  to  me  as 
dim  and  distant  as  the  moon’s  caverns,  rose  before  me  outlined 
upon  the  placid  evening  sky.  I  stopped  and  listened  eagerly  as 
I  approached  its  open  door,  no  sound  but  the  gurgle  of  a  distant 
brook  ;  no  living  object  but  two  great  St.  Bernard  dogs  seated 
upon  the  broad,  dark  steps  of  stone. 

A  gentleman  may  be  defined  as  a  being  always  wisely  and 
benignantly  equal  to  the  occasion.  Such  a  character  appeared 
upon  the  scene  in  the  person  of  “  Reverend  Besse,”  the  “  Hospi¬ 
table  Father”  and  chief  of  the  establishment.  Our  party  in  com¬ 
mittee  of  the  whole  (and  no  “minority  report”),  voted  him  the 
most  delightful  man  we  ever  saw.  All  that  is  French  in  manner, 
united  to  all  that  is  English  in  sturdiness  of  character,  all  that  is 
winning  in  Italian  tones,  united  to  a  German’s  ideality,  a  Yankee’s 
keenness  of  perception,  a  Scotchman’s  heartiness,  and  an  Irish¬ 
man’s  wit — these  qualities  seemed  blended  in  our  nonesuch” 
of  a  host,  and  fused  into  harmony  by  the  fire  of  a  brother’s 
love  toward  man  and  a  saint’s  fidelity  to  God.  Young,  fair,  blue¬ 
eyed,  he  stood  among  our  chattering  group  like  one  who,  from  a 
region  of  perpetual  calm,  dispenses  radiant  smiles  and  overflowing 


The  Hospice  and  Its  Host. 


267 


bounty.  So  quick  was  his  discernment  and  so  sagacious  was  his 
decision,  that  almost  without  a  question  he  assigned  us,  in  de¬ 
tachments  correctly  arranged,  to  fitting  domiciles  ;  made  each  one 
feel  that  he  or  she  had  been  especially  expected  and  prepared 
for,  and  within  five  minutes  had  so  won  his  way  into  the  inner¬ 
most  recess  of  everybody’s  heart,  that  Mr.  Jones  expressed  in  his 
own  idiomatic  way  the  sense  of  fifty  guests  when  he  declared, 
‘  ‘  To  such  a  man  as  that  even  the  kittle  Corporal  might  well 
have  doffed  his  old  chapeau.”  Who  shall  do  justice  to  the  din¬ 
ner  at  that  k-shaped  table,  where  the  Father  sat  at  the  head 
and  said  grace,  beaming  upon  his  great  cosmopolitan  family  with 
that  young  face,  so  honest,  gentle  and  brave  ?  Who  but  the  jestful 
climbers  to  whom  rice  soup,  omelet,  codfish  and  potatoes,  stewed 
pears,  rice  pudding,  figs,  filberts,  cake  and  tea,  seemed  dulcet  as 
ambrosia  on  these  inspiring  heights  ?  Then  came  the  long  even¬ 
ing  around  the  huge  and  glowing  hearth-fire.  How  soon  we 
felt  “  acquaint  how  fast  we  talked  in  frisky  French  or  wheezy 
German,  minding  little  how  the  moods  and  tenses  went  askew, 
so  that  we  got  and  gave  ideas.  The  Father  turned  from  side  to 
side  answering  with  solicitous  attention  every  question  that  we 
asked,  so  that  a  mosaic  of  his  chief  replies  would  read  something 
like  this  : 

‘  ‘  Mademoiselle  asks  the  indications  of  the  thermometer  this 
August  evening  ?  I  learn  the  mercury  stands  already  at  forty- 
five  degrees  Fahrenheit,  and  the  boundary  line  of  Italy  is  but  five 
minutes  distant.  Here,  Brother  Jean,  please  provide  the  beds 
of  all  our  guests  with  warming-pans. 

“Yes,  lady,  our  Hospice  was  founded  nine  hundred  years 
ago,  by  Count  Bernard,  of  Savoy,  who  devoted  forty  years  of  his 
life  to  entertaining  and  protecting,  as  we  still  try  to  do,  the  many 
travelers  who  annually  pass  through  these  mountains  between 
Switzerland  and  Italy.  About  twenty  thousand  were  cared  for 
each  year  in  olden  times,  without  the  smallest  charge  being  made 
of  rich  or  poor.  Now,  we  have  not  so  many,  the  facilities  for 
travel  having  so  greatly  improved.  But  a  great  number  come 
over  the  Pass  who  are  out  looking  for  work,  and  there  are  also 
many  beggars.  These  we  limit  to  three  days’  entertainment. 
We  would  gladly  keep  them  longer,  but  can  not.  Our  dogs  are 
a  cross  between  Newfoundland  and  Pyrenean,- and  after  seven  or 


268 


*  ‘  It  is  My  Calling.  ’  ’ 


« 


eight  years  become  rheumatic,  and  we  are  forced  to  kill  them. 
In  winter  travelers  are  obliged  to  wait  at  a  place  of  refuge  we 
have  provided,  at  some  distance  from  these  buildings,  which  are 
on  the  very  top  of  the  Pass,  until  we  send  out  a  man  and  dog, 
with  refreshments  fastened  to  the  neck  of  the  dog,  who  never 
once  loses  his  way,  though  the  distance  is  long,  the  snow  is  often 
thirty  feet  deep,  and  the  only  guide  the  man  has  is  the  great 
banner-like  tail  of  the  dog  waving  through  the  storm.  Last  win¬ 
ter  we  lost  one  of  our  noblest  animals.  A  strange  dog  bit  him 
and  severed  an  artery.  The  monks  always  go  out  in  .the  most 
dangerous  weather.  I  lead  them  at  such  times.  They  are  not 
obliged  to  go — we  make  it  perfectly  voluntary.  ’  ’ 

Here  Kate  broke  in  with  an  important  question  :  ‘  ‘  How  do 
you  occupy  your  time  in  summer  ?  ”  “  Oh,  Mademoiselle,  we  study 
and  teach — we  had  fifty  students  last  season.”  “What  do  you 
teach  ?  ”  “  All  that  a  priest  ought  to  know — theology,  philosophy, 
the  laws  of  the  church.  We  know  contemporaneous  events,  ex¬ 
cept  politics  (!  )  which  we  do  not  read.”  “  What  is  your  age  ?  ” 
here  chimed  in  the  practical  Jones.  “Monsieur,  I  am  thirty- 
one.”  (“  But  he  does  not  look  a  day  older  than  twenty-three,” 
whispered  poetical  Sophie,  and  we  all  nodded  our  energetic 
acquiescence  in  her  figures. )  “  How  long  have  you  been  here  ?  ” 

“Eleven  years,  and  I  remain  in  perfect  health.  My  prede¬ 
cessors  in  the  office  could  not  endure  this  high  latitude — 
three  of  them  left  in  a  period  of  four  years.”  “  Why  are  you 
here?  ”  persisted  Jones.  The  scene  was  worthy  of  a  painter — that 
shrewd  Yankee,  whose  very  figure  was  a  walking  interrogation 
point,  and  that  graceful,  urbane  monk,  in  his  long  cassock,  as 
leaning  in  his  easy-chair  and  looking  forward  and  a  little  upward, 
he  answered  with  slow,  melodious  emphasis,  “Brother,  it  is  my 
calling ,  that  is  all.”  So  simple  was  his  nature,  that  to  have  heard 
“  a  call  ”  from  God  and  not  obeyed  it,  would  have  seemed  to  him 
only  less  monstrous  than  not  to  have  heard  any  call  at-ull  !  At 
early  dawn  we  were  wakened  by  men’s  voices  in  a  solemn  chant, 
led  by  the  Hospitable  Father — and  never  did  religion  seem  more 
sacred  and  attractive  than  while  we  listened  as  through  the 
chapel  door  came  the  words  of  the  Te  Deum,  consecrated  by  cen¬ 
turies  of  Christian  song,  “We  praise  Thee,  O  God,  we  acknowl¬ 
edge  Thee  to  be  the  Lord.” 


A  Forward  Glance. 


269 


PARIS. 

January  3,  1869. — In  the  evening  we  were  all  assembled  in  the  salon , 
and  Madame  P.,  our  teacher,  telling  us  not  to  be  scandalized,  brought  in  the 
cushion  cover  she  is  embroidering  and  her  sister’s  sewing,  aud  they  both 
proceeded  to  put  in  a  solid  evening  at  work.  Her  son,  with  two  friends,  sat 
at  the  card  table  throughout  the  evening,  and  this  was  my  first  Sunday  with 
a  French  family  in  Paris. 

Memorandum. — A  man  of  all  work  is  cleaning  out  Madame’s  salle  d 
manger  floor  with  a  brush  on  his  foot,  and  his  foot  plying  actively  from  side 
to  side.  A  more  excellent  wray  this  than  to  see  Antoinette,  the  maid  of  all 
work,  on  her  knees  with  a  scrub  broom  ! 

January  6. — Rejuvenated,  recreated,  by  eight  hours’  continuous  repose, 
I  have  a  mind  to  indicate  here  what  has  much  occupied  me  of  late,  but  what 
I  am  not  brave  enough  to  execute,  perhaps,  though,  if  I  were,  I  believe  my 
usefulness  would  exceed  the  measure  it  will  reach  in  any  other  line  of  life. 
Briefly,  it  is  to  study  so  far  as  possible,  by  reading,  learning  the  languages 
and  personal  observation,  the  aspects  of  the  woman  question  in  France,  Ger¬ 
many  and  England,  and  when  I  return  to  America,  after  two  or  three  years’ 
absence,  and  have  studied  the  same  subject  carefully  in  relation  to  my  own 
land,  to  talk  in  public  of  the  matter  and  cast  myself  with  what  weight  or 
weakness  I  possess  against  the  only  foe  of  what  I  conceive  to  be  the  justice 
of  the  subject,  and  that  is  unenlightened  public  opinion.  Sometimes  I  feel 
‘‘the  victory  to  be  in  me,”  often  I  do  not.  Always,  I  have  dimly  felt  it  to 
be  my  vocation,  but  a  constitutional  dread  of  criticism  and  too  strong  love 
of  approbation  have  held  me  back.  With  encouragement,  I  believe  myself 
capable  of  rendering  services  of  some  value  in  the  word-and-idea-battle 
that  will  only  deepen  with  years,  and  must  at  last  have  a  result  that  will 
delight  all  who  have  helped  to  hasten  it. 

Antoinette,  the  bonne ,  from  whom  we  are  also  striving  to  learn,  as 
everybody  is  fish  for  our  net  at  present,  told  us  that  Monsieur  M.,  husband 
of  Madame  P.,  was  the  architect  of  the  thirteenth  ward  of  Paris ;  that  no 
one  could  make  the  least  alteration  in  his  house,  either  to  put  in  a  window 
or  a  pane  of  glass,  without  his  permission.  We  told  her  how  in  free  Amer¬ 
ica  every  man  chose  the  material  and  style  that  suited  him,  and  no  one 
dared  to  interfere.  She  thought  it  evidently  a  liberty  not  to  be  envied, 
and  said  we  must  have  all  sorts  of  odd  looking  streets  as  the  result.  Paris 
is  to  be  beautiful,  that  is  decreed,  aud  no  private  tastes  or  ignorances  are 
permitted  to  interfere  with  the  plan. 

This  evening  Madame  talked  frankly  with  us  of  her  affairs.  She  said 
that  to-day  the  reader  of  the  Empress  brought  her  a  message  from  Plug^nie, 
in  answer  to  a  request  made  on  Madame’s  behalf  by  the  Duchess  de  Sesto. 
It  seems  that  Madame  applied  for  the  rent  of  a  tobacconist’s  shop  to  increase 
her  income,  a  curious  thing  on  its  face,  and  a  request  lodged  in  a  curious 
quarter.  But  liarkee  !  All  the  tobacco  that  comes  to  France  is  the  property 
of  the  government.  There  is  no  permission  given  to  private  individuals  for 
its  importation  or  manufacture.  The  only  manufactory  in  France  is  at  Paris. 


270 


The  Legion  of  Honor. 


The  shops  in  which  it  is  offered  for  sale  buy  their  license  of  the  government 
at  a  fixed  yearly  sum.  To  the  wives  and  daughters  of  military  men  who 
have  distinguished  themselves,  these  license  moneys  are  given  as  a  support 
by  the  government.  Vacancies  only  occur  on  the  death  of  some  lady  to 
whom  a  license  has  been  given.  The  Empress  sent  word  to  Madame  that 
it  would  be  as  easy  to  bite  the  moon  with  one’s  teeth  as  to  get  her  a  tobac¬ 
conist’s  shop  within  six  years,  but  that  anything  in  her  power  she  would 
do,  and  she  offered  the  Bourse  to  her  for  Henri,  her  son,  that  is,  the  right  of 
gratuitous  education  in  the  Napoleon  Lyceum,  one  of  the  chief  schools  of 
Paris ;  but  through  the  city,  on  account  of  her  husband’s  services  as  an 
architect,  Madame  already  has  that  privilege.  The  Empress  also  offered  to 
put  the  little  girls  in  a  school  of  high  grade,  but  Madame  wisely  says  she 
will  never  be  separated  from  them.  She  expects,  however,  to  obtain  some¬ 
thing  desirable  through  the  kindness  of  the  Empress. 

Later,  came  in  Captain  Rolle,  a  soldier  of  the  regular  army,  full  of  con¬ 
versation  and  of  contradiction.  He  told  us  a  marvelous  story  of  an  Amer¬ 
ican  born  in  France  who  has  just  inherited  a  million  by  the  decease  of  a 
miserly  uncle,  and  from  his  fruit-stand  on  the  streets  of  New  York  he  has 
been  transported  to  the  elegant  establishment  in  this  city  of  delights.  The 
Captain  brought  in  his  various  crosses  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  one  for 
evening,  one  for  the  parade,  and  a  ribbon  for  daily  use,  with  the  various 
official  papers  relating  to  his  promotion,  in  all  of  which  w7e  were  much  inter¬ 
ested.  I  think  a  Legion  of  Honor  would  be  a  decidedly  good  novelty  to 
introduce  into  America. 

“  This  is  a  funeral  of  the  fifth  class,”  said  Madame,  scrutinizing  a  pass¬ 
ing  procession  with  her  lorgnette  from  our  lofty  balcony.  It  seems  there 
is  one  grand  establishment  in  Paris  which  takes  charge  of  all  the  funerals. 
There  are  seven  grades,  one  orders  whichever  he  can  best  afford  for  a  friend, 
and  has  no  further  concern  about  any  of  the  details.  At  the  church,  wdiither 
everybody  is  carried  after  death,  whether  he  ever  went  before  or  not,  one 
orders  a  dozen  or  a  half-dozen  choir  boys  and  many  or  few  prayers,  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  style  of  purse  he  carries. 

January  24. — Just  one  year  ago  to-day  my  father  died.  How  changed 
is  life  since  then  for  mother  and  for  me !  In  the  twilight  Kate  and  I 
have  just  been  singing  the  hymns  he  liked  the  best,  and  which  I  often  sang 
in  the  midnight  hours  to  him,  in  those  last  times,  so  sad,  so  brightened  in 
their  clouds  by  his  victorious  faith.  No  other  hymns  will  ever  be  to  me 
like  those  on  which  his  fainting  spirit,  sorely  tried,  was  often  borne  aloft 
toward  the  calm  regions  where  he  has  now  enjoyed  our  Saviour’s  presence 
for  one  whole  year,  has  learned  so  much,  and  delighted  in  the  company  of 
those  he  loved  most  dearly  when  in  this  world. 

In  the  evening  came  Mr.  U.,  an  accomplished  French  gentleman,  with 
whom  we  have  fine  opportunities  for  improving  our  grammar  and  accent. 
We  fell  into  a  spirited  discussion  of  the  late  w7ar,  our  own  at  home.  He 
favors  the  South,  thinks  the  liberation  of  the  slaves  without  compensation 
to  the  master  is  theft ;  thinks  the  proclamation  of  emancipation  was  but  a 
vigorous  stroke  of  policy  to  enfeeble  the  enemy  and  to  curry  favor  with 


French  Home  Life. 


271 


Europe  ;  thinks  the  North  has  crushed  the  South,  which  sentiment  he  illus¬ 
trated  by  raising  his  boot  with  force  and  bringing  it  down  upon  the  well- 
waxed  floor  of  the  salon  with  ringing  emphasis  ;  thinks  the  South  was  not 
bound  to  stay  in  the  Union,  on  the  principle  that  what  our  ancestors  agree  is 
nothing  to  ourselves,  and  prophesies  another  assassination  of  the  nation’s 
chief  officer,  and  a  second  effusion  of  blood.  Nevertheless,  he  says  the 
South  wras  not  wrise  in  going  to  war,  and  slavery  is  wrong  and  ought  to  end, 
but  by  fair  means.  He  says  that  France  and  England  should  have  helped 
the  South,  for  America  is  growing  so  powerful  that,  joined  with  Russia,  she 
will  “meddle  herself”  in  European  politics  one  of  these  days.  It  is  very 
interesting  to  listen  to  the  absurdity  of  these  foreigners.  I  have  not  yet 
seen  one  who  did  not  at  heart  lean  a  little  toward  the  South. 

January  26. — The  lecture  over,  wre  wrent  to  Madame  Farjon’s  for  the 
evening  and  to  tea,  and  had  hours  of  wrhat  we  most  delight  in — solid  French. 
It  was  pleasant  to  me  to  be  able  to  understand  a  whole  conversation  in 
another  language,  with  the  help  of  an  occasional  word  from  Kate,  who  is 
always  ready  and  willing  to  come  to  my  aid.  It  is  odd,  but  when  she  is  a 
moment  absent,  I  do  not  altogether  understand  sentences  that  wrould  give 

me  no  trouble  if  she  were  within  earshot. 

«• 

January  31. — We  go  almost  daily  to  the  College  de  France,  where  ladies 
are  allowed  to  listen  to  the  lectures  of  the  ablest  men  in  Paris.  I  have 
already  acquired  enough  French  to  understand  quite  well. 

I  like  my  peeps  at  the  domestic  life  of  the  intelligent,  but  undistin¬ 
guished,  in  this  -wonderful  city.  In  only  one  salon  have  I  seen  a  carpet 
over  the  entire  extent — and  the  fire,  or  the  want  of  fire !  Talk  was  had 
about  the  fine  coal  and  the  cheerful  flame,  when  we  made  our  bargain  to 
come,  but  to-night, we  sat  in  the  great  barn  of  a  room  with  a  foot-stove 
apiecfe  filled  with  warm  ashes,  and  shivered  with  the  cold,  although  such 
a  day  as  this  in  an  American  January  would  be  thought  spring-like. 
Finally,  Kate  and  I,  in  desperation,  sat  down  before  the  chilly  grate  and 
absorbed  what  heat  it  had,  since  we  paid  so  much  a  week  therefor.  While 
the  others,  with  wraps  about  them,  took  their  sewing  and  gathered  around 
the  great  lamp  on  the  center-table,  resigned  to  their  habitual  fate,  and 
possibly  gained  some  heat  from  that  luminary,  I  quietly  mended  the  scat¬ 
tered  fragments  of  the  fire,  at  which  one  of  the  children  said,  “  Oh , 
malheureuse  !  ”  (unhappy  one)  for  to  touch  a  thing  so  sacred  is  presump¬ 
tion.  If  father  were  here  he  w7ould  say,  “  The  French  know  110  more  about 
comfort  than  my  goose.” 

I  have  been  noting  the  industry  of  Madame’s  little  girls,  one  nine,  the 
other  seven  years  old.  They  rise  at  six  o’clock,  breakfast  on  a  bowl  of  tea 
and  bread,  stay  at  their  work-table  and  are  employed  with  their  governess 
until  noon,  three  days  in  the  week,  at  grammar,  reading,  English  (such  Eng¬ 
lish  !)  lessons.  Twice  a  week  their  aunt  gives  them  lessons  on  the  piano  ; 
two  or  three  times  they  go  for  a  walk  with  Antoinette  ;  in  the  evenings, 
directly  after  tea,  they  bring  forth  their  light  work  from  their  neat  and  or¬ 
derly  work-boxes  and  sew  an  hour,  read  a  little  quietly  by  themselves  in 
books  taken  from  the  Sunday-school  library,  and  retire  at  eight  or  nine 


272 


Imperial  Factories. 


o’clock  after  “embracing”  all  present  in  the  most  dutiful  and  affectionate 
manner.  The  other  evening  Madame  made  a  little  sketch  for  them  to  copy 
by  way  of  variation.  She  keeps  them  to  their  tasks  with  gentle  firmness, 
calling  them  all  endearing  names  from  “my  angel”  to  “my  little  one,” 
and  admirably  directs  their  young  activities. 

February  8. — I  remember  reading  in  the  traveler  books  that  in  Paris 
one  rarely  saw  a  drunken  man  on  the  streets.  This  morning  four  reeled 
past  us  as  we  went  to  church.  I  repeated  what  I  had  read  to  Madame  P. 
She  said  no  error  could  be  greater,  that  such  sights  were  common,  but  gen¬ 
tlemen  never  became  intoxicated  here  either  at  home  or  on  the  streets. 
She  claimed  that  it  was  the  blouse,  not  the  broadcloth,  that  covered  the  back 
of  the  inebriate,  but  said  that  other  pleasures  no  less  fatal  attract  “the  better 
class”  of  Frenchmen  !  What  standards  have  the  Parisians  and  what  won¬ 
der  that  their  language  has  no  word  for  home  ! 

In  the  evening,  Madame’ s  brother  and  sister  were  here.  He  has  lived 
ill  South  America,  believes  in  slavery,  and  says  in  the  funniest  pronunciation 
that  he  is  a  copper-head.  He  laughed  at  the  “pretty  President”  we  have 
in  General  Grant,  and  when  Kate,  acting  as  mouthpiece  for  us  both,  because 
she  speaks  French  more  readily  than  I  do,  pushed  him  to  the  wall  in  argu¬ 
ment,  he  asked  if  she  would  marry  a  colored  man.  She  replied  with  spirit, 
“  No,  nor  would  I  marry  a  Frenchman,  either  !  ”  at  which  remark  general 
horror  was  expressed  and  the  argument  was  ended. 

February  10. — We  have  been  to  see  the  process  of  making  both  tapestries 
and  carpets  at  the  Imperial  manufactory.  In  the  former,  the  artist  stands 
behind  his  work,  because  every  thread  must  be  tied  on  the  wrong  side  of  it, 
to  leave  a  perfectly  smooth  surface  upon  t!he  other.  The  picture  he  is  to 
copy  is  behind  him.  From  time  to  time  he  puts  a  little  mirror  between  the 
threads  and  in  it  sees  the  progress  of  his  work.  The  busy  bobbin  flies  in  and 
out  in  the  expert  hand  of  the  invisible  worker.  Then  the  mirror  is  pushed 
through  for  an  instant’s  scrutiny,  and  again  the  bobbin  resumes  its  motion. 
I  do  not  believe  that  a  quarter  of  an  inch  is  wrought  in  a  single  day. 
Watching  a  long  time,  I  could  see  no  growth  in  the  delicate  flower  petal 
that  was  under  the  fingers  of  the  artist  of  whose  work  I  took  special  notice. 
The  men  who  make  carpets,  on  the  contrary,  have  their  work  in  front  of 
them,  and  the  picture  they  are  to  copy  hangs  above  their  heads.  They 
loop  upon  a  little  iron  instrument  many  loose  stitches,  then  turn  a  sharp 
edge  that  is  on  one  side  of  this  tool  against  the  loop,  cutting  it  in  two  and 
leaving  the  severed  ends  exposed.  These  they  clip  down,  smooth  off  and 
their  work  is  finished.  But  this  work,  too,  is  very  slow,  being  on  a  much 
larger  scale  than  the  tapestries.  Some  carpets  take  ten  years,  and  none  are 
ever  sold.  The  manufactory  belongs  to  the  government  and  its  products 
go  to  palaces  at  home  or  are  the  princely  gifts  of  France  to  foreign  poten¬ 
tates.  The  largest  carpet  ever  made  here  or  elsewhere,  probably,  was  for 
the  picture  gallery  of  the  Louvre.  It  was  in  seventy-two  pieces,  was  more 
than  thirteen  hundred  feet  long,  and  cost  130,000.  It  seems  curious  that 
women  are  not  at  all  employed  here,  where  the  delicacy  of  the  work  would 
seem  so  well  suited  to  their  fingers.  Large,  heavy,  unwieldy  looking  men 


Strange  Customs. 


273 


were  clipping  at  the  carpets,  seated  comfortably  on  their  benches,  some  of 
them  with  a  scissors’  end  picking  out  the  ends  of  the  woven  threads,  but  not 
a  woman  was  to  be  seen,  except  the  one  who  laid  hold  of  our  umbrella  and 
confiscated  it  at  a  cost  of  two  sous.  The  men  who  work  here  are  poorly 
paid.  There  are  about  one  hundred  and  twenty  of  them,  and  they  receive 
prices  ranging  from  three  to  six  hundred  dollars  annually  in  gold,  and 
when  disabled  by  age  or  illness  a  life  pension  ranging  from  one  hundred 
dollars  to  two  hundred  dollars  annually.  We  did  not  see  the  establishment 
for  dyeing,  but  in  one  room  was  a  dazzling  collection  of  the  colors  used 
in  making  the  tapestries,  the  loveliest  blues,  greens,  reds,  and  other  shades, 
that  I  ever  saw. 

At  our  evening  lesson  and  talk  Madame  P.  fell  upon  the  subject  of  the 
strictness  of  the  marriage  laws  of  France,  saying  that  the  ceremony  at 
church  had  no  authority  apart  from  that  at  the  Mayor’s  office,  whither  goes 
every  pair  from  the  Emperor  and  Empress  down.  She  told  us  about  her  own 
trousseau,  and  disapproved  the  action  of  her  cousin,  who  at  her  marriage  had 
a  dozen  dozen  of  each  linen  garment;  she  thought  four  dozen  enough.  She  said 
the  proper  way  for  the  parents  of  the  bride  was  to  put  a  sum  of  money  at 
interest  at  her  marriage,  sufficient  to  keep  her  in  linen  for  the  rest  of  the 
time,  instead  of  getting  such  a  senseless  quantity  on  hand  to  grow  old  and 
fall  to  pieces.  She  told  us  that  she  was  married  at  the  mayor’s  one  day  and 
at  the  church  the  next,  but  that  the  common  people  usually  went  direct  from 
one  place  to  the  other.  The  church  gave  the  benediction  of  heaven  upon 
the  union,  that  was  all,  it  had  no  validity  apart  from  the  legal  forms.  She 
mentioned  a  curious  custom  that  every  child  must  be  dispatched  within  three 
days  after  the  tenth  birthday  to  the  mayor’s  office  to  be  registered  and  ex¬ 
amined  as  to  its  sex  to  prevent  deception  on  the  part  of  parents,  who  would 
avoid  the  conscription  of  their  children.  If  a  boy,  he  was  not  examined, 
but  if  a  girl  was  announced,  an  examination  must  be  had  in  presence  of 
witnesses.  That  single  law  would  bring  about  a  war  within  twenty  hours  if 
passed  in  America.  The  idea  is,  “  If  you  have  sons,  I,  the  Government, 
will  know  it,  and  they  shall  fight  to  uphold  my  throne.  I  will  examine  for 
myself,  and  you  have  no  way  to  escape  from  the  conscription  which 
I  ordain.” 

Kate  recounted  several  instances  about  American  customs  to  Madame  P., 
giving  among  them  the  incident  of  a  young  lady  who  broke  off  a  “desira¬ 
ble  ”  engagement,  because  she  did  no£  love  her  lover.  Madame  replied  with 
spirit,  “There  is  but  one  thing  in  the  world  thfft  a  woman  has  to  give  and 
that  is  her  hand.  I  like  now  and  then  to  hear  of  her  having  refused  it,  just 
as  a  token  of  her  independence.”  I  was  much  amused  at  an  out-cropping 
of  the  national  sentiment  which  followed  my  remark  that,  if  I  ever  married, 
I  hoped  a  minister  might  be  my  lot,  as  I  needed  the  influence  of  such  sur¬ 
roundings  and  companionships.  Madame  replied  :  “  Why,  I  know  a  young 

pian,  well  educated,  very  religious,  a  fine  fellow,  every  way.  I  will  write  to 
him,  I  owe  him  a  letter,  and  will  show  you  his  reply.  You  can  judge  from 
that  what  sort  of  a  person  he  is.”  She  imagines  that  like  all  Americans  who 
have  gone  before  me,  I  should  be  desirable  by  reason  of  my  dowry  ! 

18 


274 


Rome— Opening  of  the  ‘  ‘  Ecumenical  Council 


ITALY. 

I  never  dreamed  in  those  lethargic  years  at  home,  what  a 
wide  world  it  is,  and  how  full  of  misery.  Indeed,  in  a  thousand 
ways,  it  was  Rome’s  office  to  teach  me  this.  Walking  along  her 
streets  with  grief  tugging  at  my  heart  for  all  the  wretchedness 
that  they  disclosed,  how  many  times  have  I  repeated  to  myself 
those  words  of  St.  Augustine,  ‘  ‘  Ret  my  soul  calm  itself,  O  God, 
in  thee  !  ” 

Hollow-eyed  beggars  asking  charity,  at  almost  every  step  ; 
troops  of  tonsured  monks,  barefooted  and  steaming  in  their 
moist,  dirty,  old  garments  ;  skinny  hags,  warming  their  knotted 
hands  over  the  smouldering  coals  in  their  little  ‘  ‘  scaldino  ’  ’  pots  ; 
dirty  little  children,  whose  tears  make  the  only  clean  spots  upon 
their  pitiful  faces,  old  before  their  time  ;  soldiers  standing  as 
sentries  in  wind  and  rain,  for  no  real  purpose  save  to  subserve  the 
pride  of  Prince  and  Cardinal  ;  horses,  whose  bones  but  just  refrain 
from  protruding  through  their  rusty  skins,  driven  rapidly  over 
the  sharp  stones,  and  falling,  only  to  struggle  and  throw  out  their 
wounded  legs  in  the  effort  to  rise  and  continue  their  journey  under 
the  pitiless  lash.  All  these  sights  smote  my  eyes  every  time  I 
walked  the  classic  streets  of  Rome.  Whoever  can  fail  to  feel  the 
fires  of  a  quenchless  philanthropy  kindling  in  his  breast  as  he 
contemplates  such  scenes  is  either  too  frivolous  for  thought,  or  too 
hardened  for  emotion.  For  myself,  whatever  I  did  not  learn  there, 
Rome  taught  me  an  intense  love  and  tender  pity  for  my  race. 

OPENING  OF  THE  “ECUMENICAL  COUNCIL.” 

I  doubt  if  Rome,  old  as  she  is  and  varied  as  her  experience 
has  been,  was  ever  earlier  astir  than  on  the  morning  of  this  day. 
Lights  glimmered  in  the  Roman  garrets,  the  cavernous  depths  of 
Roman  basements,  and  the  lordly  middle  heights  of  Roman  pal¬ 
aces,  at  a  most  unseemly  hour,  looking  like  jack-o’-lanterns 
through  the  cottony  mist  of  the  most  unpropitious  morning  that 
ever  dawned,  at  least  considered  from  a  meteorologic  point  of 
view.  Crowds  had  already  assembled  at  St.  Peter’s  before  the 
bells  struck  off  the  cheerless  hour  of  five,  and  when  our  comfort¬ 
able  carriage  load,  invigorated  by  the  breakfast  that  awaited  our 
appearance  at  seven  o’clock,  set  out  for  the  scene  of  action,  the 
tide  of  emigration  in  the  same  direction  was  frightful  to  behold. 


“ Red  with  Cardinals'  Carriages 


275 


% 

We  rolled  on  through  the  chief  thoroughfares  in  the  long  double 
line  of  carriages,  while  on  each  side  the  army  of  umbrella-carry¬ 
ing  pedestrians  could  be  compared  to  nothing  but  a  forest  of 
mammoth  mushrooms.  They  poured  in  from  all  directions  ;  pro- . 
cessions  of  school-boys,  colleges  of  theological  students,  their 
symbolic  “leading  string  ”  hanging  limp  and  spiritless  behind 
them ;  white-bonneted  sisters  of  charity,  solitary  priests,  ad¬ 
venturous  women;  “don’t-care”  urchins  of  the  street,  and 
gaunt-faced  beggar  women,  with  ragged  petticoats  gathered 
around  their  heads  ;  a  monstrous,  motley  throng,  all  candidates 
upon  exactly  equal  footing  as  the  wealthiest  or  most  lowly 
occupant  of  the  hurrying  carriages,  who  joked  about  them  as  they 
passed,  for  the  “  Holy  Father  ”  h$d  ordained  that  perfect  fairness 
should  prevail  at  the  day’s  ceremony,  and  prince  and  peasant 
would  jostle  each  other  this  morning  in  their  efforts  to  get  a  good 
look  at  the  procession.  I11  the  street,  however,  slight  distinctions 
still  prevailed  ;  mounted  soldiers,  wrapped  in  dripping  cloaks 
and  wearing  draggled  plumes,  guarded  the  approach  to  the 
bridge  of  St.  Angelo,  and  he  must  be  at  least  a  Bishop  who  would 
pass  unchallenged,  while  all  lesser  lights  of  church  or  state  must 
make  the  grand  detour,  pass  the  Tiber’s  classic  muddiness  by  a 
distant  bridge,  and  pay  roundly  for  the  privilege  of  doing  so. 

Alas  for  human  foresight !  Had  we  not  planned  to  be  among 
the  earliest  to  take  possession  of  the  great  Basilica,  and  behold  !  the 
streets  many  squares  distant  from  St.  Peter’s  were  lined  011  either 
side  by  empty  carriages  which  had  already  deposited  their  too- 
enterprising  burdens,  though  it  was  but  seven,  and  the  ceremony 
would  not  take  place  till  nine.  Arrived  at  the  great  square  we 
became  fully  convinced,  perhaps  for  the  first  time,  that  early  birds 
alone  can  hope  for  toothsome  morsels.  The  place  was  red  with 
Cardinal’s  carriages  and  black  with  commonplace  humanity,  all 
of  whom  were  engaged  in  a  break-neck  race  for  the  wide,  invit¬ 
ing,  blocked-up  doors  of  the  cathedral.  We  filed  in  between 
gigantic  guards  with  old-fashioned  muffs  upon  their  heads,  carry¬ 
ing  the  burden  of  our  wilted  hopes.  What  a  sea  of  human  faces  ; 
what  a  deep  ground-swell  of  human  voices  ;  what  waves  of  human 
forms  !  Along  the  dim,  damp,  lofty  nave  was  stretched  a  double 
line  of  soldiers,  keeping  an  aveune  from  the  great  central  door, 
now  open  for  the  first  time  that  we  had  ever  seen  it,  to  the  coun- 


2 76  Yankees  Standing  on  St.  Peter'' s  Altar-rail / 

cil  hall.  Against  this  moveless  wall  beat  the  eager,  hopeless 
crowd.  Thousands  were  between  them  and  us  so  the  pleasant  fic¬ 
tion  of  “  seeing  the  procession  ”  was  exploded  at  a  glance.  Still 
we  made  desperate  efforts  to  get  nearer  the  soldiers  and  soon  found 
ourselves  crushed  between  three  peasants,  two  monks  and  a  fish- 
woman,  the  mingled  odor  from  whose  wet  garments  was  more 
invincible  than  bayonets,  and  we  worked  our  way  to  a  breathing 
place  without  loss  of  time.  Then  we  tried  for  the  high  altar 
opposite  which  is  the  open  door  of  the  council  hall,  but  Leonidas 
and  his  Spartans  were  not  more  steadfast  than  the  multifarious 
monster  that  held  position  there.  Then  desperately  we  forced 
our  way  into  the  entrance  portico  of  the  church,  but  this  was 
packed  and  had  he  passed  at  the  moment,  we  could  not  have 
seen  the  topmost  feather  of  the  Pope’s  peacock  fans.  At  last 
becoming  weary  and  dispirited,  we  retired  to  the  chapel  of  the 
Presentation  of  the  Virgin,  vis-a-vis  with  the  splendid  chapel  of 
the  Holy  Sacrament,  and  our  escort,  Signor  Paolo  Caveri,  a 
Genoese  lawyer,  devout  Catholic  that  he  wTas,  insisted  on  our 
taking  sitting  positions  on  the  marble  railing  that  surrounded 
the  altar,  turning  our  backs  upon  the  sacred  symbol.  We  had 
our  scruples,  but  a  glance  revealed  the  startling  fact  that  several 
sanctimonious  priests  had  been  guilty  of  a  like  irreverence,  and 
so  we  mounted  the  rich  balustrade,  and  thence  “  assisted  ”  at  the 
pageant  of  the  day.  Time  wore  on  and  the  human  stream  .still 
gurgled  through  the  open  doors.  The  beautiful  marble  floor  was 
deluged  with  water  dripping  from  cloaks,  .shoes  and  umbrellas; 
the  air  was  dark  with  incense  from  the  “unseen  censer”  of  ten 
thousand  pairs  of  panting  lungs  ;  the  Babel  of  voices  grew  louder, 
the  crush  more  formidable,  but  along  the  endless  nave  the  lines 
of  troops  stood  firm.  Side  scenes  were  not  wanting  to  make  the 
hours  less  long.  At  every  altar  in  the  church,  mass  wTas  being 
celebrated,  and  to  us  irreverent  heretics  the  struggle  in  the  Cath¬ 
olic  breast  between  curiosity  and  devotion  was  a  curious  study. 
One  solemn-faced  gentleman  in  holiday  attire  elbowed  his  way 
through  the  crowd  and  knelt  to  take  the  sacrament,  but  being 
closely  pressed  on  either  side,  he  inadvertently  knocked  from  the 
altar  one  of  its  tall  candles  which  dripped  upon  his  fine  new  coat 
in  swift  revenge.  The  priest  pretended  not  to  see,  and  went  on 
decorously  with  his  genuflexions  ;  the  communicant  affected  not 


‘ ‘  His  River ince  ’  ’  Under  Difficulties.  277 

to  feel,  but  assumed  an  apoplectic  hue,  and  the  people  hid  their 
laughing  faces  in  their  prayer-books  while  they  muttered  the 
responses  in  broken  tones.  We  saw  our  good  friend  and  escort, 
the  Italian  lawyer,  and  his  daughter  on  their  knees,  but  with  faces 
that  would  have  become  them  far  better  at  the  comic  opera  than 
before  the  sacred  altar.  A  worthy  priest  intent  on  seeing  all  that 
passed  and  yet  on  escaping  the  pressure  of  the  crowd,  had  abused 
his  prerogative  so  far  as  to  climb  the  projecting  ornaments  of  a 
column  beside  the  altar,  and  was  making  most  industrious  use  of 
his  eyes,  when,  lo  !  another  priest  in  glittering  vestments  and  with 
attendant  choir  boy  came  to  say  mass  within  arm’s-reach  of  him. 
The  struggle  between  duty  and  inclination  was  ludicrous  enough  ; 
the  poor  priest  wriggled  himself  into  a  position  of  compromise 
and  nodded  and  mumbled  toward  the  altar  while  he  kept  one  eye 
sharply  opened  on  the  passage  way  for  the  procession.  Opposite 
him,  standing  up  on  the  altar  railing,  was  a  portly  dame  who 
courtesied  and  responded  from  her  statuesque  position  and  ran  a 
dreadful  risk  of  becoming  cross-eyed  for  life  by  trying  to  look  two 
ways  at  once  —  toward  God  and  Mammon.  From  time  to  time 
ladies  were  carried  out  in  fainting  fits,  with  faces  ghastly  white 
and  chignons  trailing  on  their  shoulders,  or  nurple-cheeked  chil¬ 
dren  were  lifted  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd  lo  purer  air.  Now  a 
gentleman’s  hat  or  his  umbrella  would  be  swept  from  his  hand 
and  lost  irrevocably,  or  a  lady’s  shawl  drop  from  her  shoulders  to 
be  seen  no  more.  And  in  all  the  tumult  the  automaton  boy  who 
kneels  beside  the  priest  would  ring  his  little  bell,  and  as  the  wind 
bends  the  prairie  grass,  so  the  warning  sound  would  bring  the 
faithful  to  their  knees.  The  liveried  servants  of  cardinals  and 
bishops,  in  their  cocked  hats  and  knee-breeches,  went  down  upon 
their  ‘  ‘  prayer-bones  ’  ’  like  men  who  feel  that  their  position 
demands  a  certain  decorum  at  any  sacrifice,  while,  mindful  of 
their  white  stockings,  they  tucked  a  handkerchief  under  their 
knees.  Now  and  then  a  purple-gowned  bishop,  preceded  by  his 
secretary  and  servants,  forced  his  way  through  the  crowd  which 
always  made  room  for  a  personage  so  distinguished.  But  at  last 
the  boom  of  minute-guns  announced  the  long-looked-for  moment ; 
the  peal  of  bells  joined  its  rich  alto  to  this  solemn  bass,  and  the 
clear,  seraphic  voices  of  the  Pope’s  choir  completed  the  chorus. 
Every  soldier  stood  with  lifted  bayonet ;  the  crowd  existed  but  for 


278 


“ Heads  of  the  Catholic  Church." 


the  sake  of  its  eyes,  and  dizzily  poised  on  tiptoe  on  my  marble 
balustrade,  I — one  of  this  august  army’s  fifty  thousand  fractions — 
beheld  the  passage  of  the  august  procession.  Beheld  it,  yes,  but 
at  a  distance  of  one  of  the  aisles  and  half  the  nave  of  the  hugest 
existing  church  ;  over  the  heads  of  the  greatest  crowd  ever  gath¬ 
ered  within  doors  and  on  the  darkest  morning  that  ever  rained 
down  shadows.  As  a  veritable  chronicler  I  can  pretend  to  noth¬ 
ing  more  than  having  literally  looked  upon  the  heads  of  the 
Catholic  church,  which  I  would  respectfully  report  as  for  the  most 
part  gray,  when  not  bald,  tonsured,  or  concealed  by  skull-caps. 
The  procession  was  half  an  hour  in  passing,  and  Monsieur  l’Abbe, 
who  also  went  with  us,  but  was  more  fortunate  in  his  place  of 
observation,  reports  it  as  having  numbered  eight  hundred  or  more. 
The  venerable  priests  moved  very  slowly,  as  became  their  dignity 
and  the  majesty  of  the  duties  to  which  they  were  going,  and  last 
of  all  came  the  Pope  who  left  his  official  chair  at  the  door  and 
walked  to  the  council  hall  with  his  brethren,  to  the  scandalization 
of  the  commonalty,  who  had  comforted  one  another  with  these 
words,  ‘  ‘  At  least  we  shall  get  a  good  view  of  his  Holiness  borne 
in  his  chair  of  state.” 

What  was  done  at  the  high  altar  and  in  the  council  hall, 
deponent  saith  not.  We  all  crowded  as  close  as  possible  to  the 
great  open  door  of  the  latter  when  the  members  had  taken  their 
seats,  and  were  rewarded  by  a  glimpse  of  white-robed  Bishops, 
sitting  in  wide  semicircles  as  the  saints  are  represented  in  the 
heavenly  visions  of  Fra  Angelico,  and  above  them  royal  person¬ 
ages,  the  Empress  of  Austria  and  the  Queen  of  Hungary,  looking 
very  black  and  unseemly  in  such  a  shining  company.  Four  times 
we  charged  upon  the  phalanx  that  had  crowded  around  the  open 
door  aforesaid,  but  were  driven  back  in  confusion  and  disgust. 

We  drove  home  fatigued  beyond  measure  and  thankful  beyond 
words  that  Ecumenical  Councils  happen  not  more  frequently  than 
once  in  three  hundred  years. 


Its  Golden  Memory . 


279 


UP  THU  NIUU. 

Stea?ner  “  Beheraf  borrowed  of  the  Pasha  for  a  three  weeks' 
trip  by  ‘  ‘  Cook's  tourists  ’  ’  and  li  us  A mericans.  ’  ’  February  11 ,  1870. 

One  week  of  my  restless,  ranging  life  has  now  been  passed 
upon  the  quiet  river  that  was  once  the  god,  and  is  ever  the  good 
genius  of  the  Egyptians. 

Eet  me  try  to  give  a  true  sketch  of  an  experience  entirely 
unique.  We  thought  to  make  the  trip  by  “  dahabeah"  (boat) 
would  take  too  long ;  we  found  that  to  charter  a  small  steamer 
would  be  difficult.  Cook  and  his  tourists  came  along  ;  they  wished 
us  Americans,  sixteen  in  number,  to  join  them  in  engaging  a  large 
steamer  ;  in  an  evil  hour  we  yielded,  and  behold  us  “in  for  it” 
and  afloat  upon  the  Nile,  a  most  uncongenial  crowd  of  forty-seven 
persons,  in  a  big,  bloated,  blustering  steamer,  all  to  be  dined  and 
wined,  walked  on  shore  and  mounted  on  donkey-back,  by  whole¬ 
sale  ;  marshaled  by  a  dragoman  in  green  clothes,  an  interpreter 
who  speaks  nine  languages,  and  an  important  “tourist-manager,” 
whenever  an  Arab  village,  a  venerable  temple,  or  a  tomb  old 
when  Joseph  was  governor  of  Egypt,  is  to  be  “  done.” 

Well,  a  sorry  day  it  was  in  which  Warburton,  in  his  “  Voy¬ 
age  up  the  Nile,”  taught  me  what  the  East  might  be  to  a  pale- 
faced  traveler  from  chilly  shores  and  stormy  skies. 

The  Real  is  a  dragon  under  whose  scaly  feet  the  airy  form  of 
the  Ideal  is  almost  always  trampled  in  my  life’s  cheerful  history. 

We  came  to  feel  the  subtle  spirit  of  the  East ;  instead,  we 
feel  Egyptian  fleas.  We  came  to  float  musingly  along  the  mystic 
waters  of  the  world’s  most  curious  river  ;  instead,  we  go  snuffing, 
snorting,  shaking,  over  its  tolerant  breast — eyes  full  of  smoke, 
ears  full  of  discord,  noses  full  of  smells  from  kitchen  and  from 
coal-bin.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all,  I  shall  never  forget  one  even¬ 
ing’s  ride  ;  it  was  the  culmination  of  what  the  East  can  yield  me, 
and  very  grateful  I  am  for  its  golden  memory.  Above  me  were 
new  heavens  ;  in  the  frame  of  a  violet  sky  hung  constellations  I 
had  never  seen  before,  their  palpitating  golden  globes  like  the 
fruit  waving  in  the  trees  of  Hesperides.  And  dear,  familiar  stars 
were  there,  only  in  places  very  different  from  those  they  occupy 
in  the  “  infinite  meadows  of  heaven  ”  that  bend  above  my  home. 
The  Dipper  lay  on  the  horizon’s  edge,  tipped  up  most  curiously  ; 


280 


Karnak  by  Moonlight . 


the  Pleiades  had  nearly  reached  the  zenith  and  the  changeless 
face  of  the  North  Star  I  could  hardly  distinguish  in  his  new  sur¬ 
roundings.  Around  ine  was  a  new  earth,  and  the  sandy  plain 
stretched  away  into  the  purple  darkness  full  of  attractive  mystery. 
Far  off  gleamed  the  fire-fly  lamps  of  an  Arab  village,  and  on  the 
cool,  invigorating  breeze  which  had  succeeded  to  the  day’s  stifling 
heat  came  the  lonesome  bark  of  dogs  and  j  ackals  so  characteristic 
of  the  East.  I  rode  under  magnificent  palm  trees  of  a  symmetry 
unequaled  by  any  hitherto  seen,  and  casting  shadows  in  which 
the  moonlight  mingled  so  that  they  looked  like  an  emblazoned 
shield.  The  white  walls  and  graceful  dome  of  a  sheik’s  tomb 
gleamed  through  the  trees. 

My  thoughts  flew  across  the  sea — dear  mother,  for  whom  all 
things  lovely  and  noble  have  such  significance,  never  looked 
upon  a  palm  tree’s  feathery  crest,  nor  saw  it  mirrored  by  an  orien¬ 
tal  moon  upon  the  desert’s  yellow  sand  !  Dear  mother  !  did  she 
think  of  me  that  night  and  pray  for  her  far-away  child  ?  The 
landscape  was  dim  for  a  moment  as  my  heart  stirred  at  thought 
of  home. 

I  rode  along  the  avenue  of  sphinxes  that  once  extended  over 
the  mile  that  separates  the  temple  of  Euxor  from  that  of  Karnak. 
How  still  it  was,  and  how  significant  that  stillness  in  the  highway 
through  which  for  more  than  two  thousand  years  had  passed  what 
was  choicest  and  most  royal  in  the  wide  earth — processions  of 
kings  and  priests  and  captives,  compared  with  which  those  of 
Rome  were  but  the  sport  of  children;  and  this,  ere  Romulus 
laid  the  first  stone  of  his  famous  wall  or  iEneas  fretted  the  blue 
waves  of  the  iEgean  with  his  adventurous  prow.  The  pride  and 
glory  of  a  world  had  had  its  center  here  ere  Cadmus  brought  let¬ 
ters  into  Greece,  or  Jacob  had  his  vision  on  the  Judean  plains. 

But  of  what  value  is  the  “  dramatic  justice  ”  which  pleases 
us  in  romance,  compared  to  the  visible  hand  of  vengeance  with 
which  a  merciful  God,  who  loves  the  creatures  he  has  made,  has 
smitten  this  stronghold  of  cruelty,  wrenched  from  their  lofty  places 
the  statues  of  bloodthirsty  tyrants,  and  sent  the  balm  of  moon¬ 
light  drifting  through  the  shattered  walls,  and  mellowing  the 
fallen  columns? 

We  sat  upon  a  broken  pedestal  in  the  great  court  of  the  Tem¬ 
ple,  Kate  and  I,  and  let  the  wondrous  beauty  of  the  place  fall  on 


Typical  Columns. 


281 


our  hearts.  One  isolated  column,  the  last  remaining  fragment  of 
a  stately  colonnade,  outlined  itself  against  the  liquid  sky — its 
white  shaft  brilliant  in  the  moonshine  and  its  broad,  corolla¬ 
shaped  capital  gleaming  far  above  us,  while  beyond,  the  shattered 
propylon  once  gay  with  the  banners  of  Isis  and  Osiris  frowned 
like  the  bastion  of  a  fortress,  and  nearer  by,  an  avalanche  of  fallen 
rocks  of  huge  dimensions  marked  where  ruin  had  struck  the 
Temple  of  Jupiter  Ammon  with  its  relentless  hand.  Farther  on 
was  the  forest  of  columns,  which  in  its  kind  is  unequaled  by  any¬ 
thing  ever  wrought  by  man — one  hundred  and  thirty-four  pillars, 
each  seventy  feet  in  height  and  thirty-five  feet  in  circumference — 
covered  from  base  to  abacus  with  carefully  wrought  sculptures, 
brilliantly  painted  in  their  day.  One  of  them  was  broken  and 
leaned  heavily  against  its  giant  neighbor,  one  of  the  most 
pathetic®  indeed  the  most  mournfully  significant  fragment  that 
human  hands  have  ever  carved  from  stone,  and  time  and  ruin 
consecrated.  Still  beyond,  in  the  white  moonlight,  climbed  the 
tapering  finger  of  the  largest  obelisk  in  Egypt,  as  fresh  and  clear- 
cut  in  its  outline  as  on  the  day  the  chisel  left  it — the  chisel  held 
by  that  unknown  artisan  who  was  a  mummy  before  Phidias 
wrought  in  Greece,  or  Zeuxis  and  Apelles  had  their  rivalries. 
Against  the  obelisk  leaned  an  old  Arab  in  graceful  turban,  and 
around  were  seated  several  others,  all  by  their  costume  and  their 
bearing  as  perfectly  in  harmony  with  the  scene  as  human  acces¬ 
sories  could  be,  and  lending  it  a  strange  yet  human  charm. 

In  what  far-off  realm  of  our  endless  life  shall  we  some  day 
meet  those  mighty  builders  whose  works  we  contemplated  under 
the  moonlit  heavens?  What  a  thought  is  this,  that  in  the 
changeful  round  of  being  we  shall  doubtless  encounter,  some¬ 
where,  the  awful  king,  Sesostris,  the  witching  Cleopatra,  the 
Pharaoh  who  was  overwhelmed  in  the  revengeful  sea  ! 

I  firmly  believe  that  they  are  all  upon  some  stellar  world, 
seen  by  us,  probably  a  thousand  times,  when  we  looked  up  into 
the  great,  gleaming,  kindly  heavens.  And  I  can  not  help  an 
earnest  heart-welcome  for  every  student  of  pyschic  laws  ;  spirit¬ 
ualism  and  all  the  occult  phenomena  that  .shall  doubtless  build  up 
new  sciences  some  day — just  as  alchemy  became  chemistry  and 
astrology  changed  into  astronomy.  Only  these  new  investigators 
must  be  disinterested  students,  not  money-seeking  jugglers. 


282 


Through  Burning  Sands. 


THE  PYRAMIDS. 

A  wise  man  once  wrote  in  my  autograph  album,  as  follows  : 
“  There  is  an  Up  in  life.”  (I  remember  he  commenced  the  word 
“  Up  ”  with  a  capital  “  U.”) 

Always  after  that,  I  dimly  believed  in  his  idea,  but  on  Feb¬ 
ruary  23,  in  1870,  I  found  out  its  truth  for  certain.  To  the  airy 
hypothesis  that  there  is  actually,  Up ,  I  then  applied  the  substan¬ 
tial  test  of  ‘  ‘  that  experience  which  one  experiences  when  one 
experiences  one’s  own  experience.”  Briefly,  I  climbed  to  the 
tip-top  stone  of  the  biggest  of  the  pyramids. 

Our  party  drove  from  Cairo  to  the  pyramids  in  a  barouche 
worthy  of  the  Champs  Elysees  at  Paris,  along  twelve  miles  of 
splendid  road,  built  through  the  sands  by  the  Viceroy  in  an¬ 
ticipation  of  a  visit  from  the  French  Empress,  and  lined  with 
shady  sycamores  and  delicate  mimosa  trees.  Quite  a  different 
way  of  getting  there  from  the  one  reported  by  earlier  tourists,  who 
toiled  on  donkey-back  through  burning  sands,  accompanied  by 
an  escort  of  vociferous  Arabs. 

The  barbarous  scenes  of  which  our  Bible  speaks,  lived  and 
moved  again  before  our  saddened  eyes.  A  part  of  the  embank¬ 
ment  of  the  regal  highway  where  we  rode  was  broken  down,  and 
a  hundred  ragged  laborers  with  baskets  on  their  heads  were 
bringing  mud  for  its  repair,  while  scattered  at  small  intervals 
among  them  were  swarthy  overseers,  each  with  his  whip,  which 
he  plied  almost  unceasingly  about  the  heads  and  shoulders  of 
those  bearded  workmen,  of  those  women  who  were  mothers, 
while  they  all  crouched  like  dogs,  beneath  the  lash. 

We  drove  on  through  fields  of  lentils,  like  those  for  which 
hungry  Esau  sold  his  birthright  to  long-headed  Jacob;  we  saw 
men  in  ample  gowns  of  blue  and  turbans  of  red,  scratching  the 
earth  with  one-handled  wooden  plows,  leisurely  dragged  by 
stolid  buffaloes ;  the  whole  scene  having  apparently  walked  out 
of  the  “Pictorial  Family  Bible”  that  we  left  behind  us.  We 
saw  at  frequent  intervals,  stalking  along  the  road  with  listless 
tread,  a  tall,  solemn  woman  of  the  Egyptians,  with  a  little  child 
sitting  astride  her  shoulders,  as  Ishmael  may  have  sat  when 
Hagar  was  turned  away  from  Abraham’s  inhospitable  tent,  over 
which  the  palm  tree  bent  its  feathery  head  as  that  one  did  be¬ 
neath  which  the  woman  leaned  to  rest. 


PyraviicL  Theories. 


283 


We  talked  of  the  theories  concerning  the  use  of  pyramids, 
which  have  been  held  at  different  times  by  learned  men.  We 
knew  that  the  stately  group  toward  which  we  moved  was  not 
the  only  one  in  Egypt.  There  are  several  others  scattered  in 
groups  for  a  distance  of  about  seventy  miles,  along  the  Nile’s 
west  bank,  averaging  one  to  each  mile.  They,  like  those  of 
Gizeh,  are  on  the  western  or  sunset  bank  of  the  mysterious  river, 
the  point  of  compass  which  receives  the  declining  sun,  being 
supposed  to  indicate  the  region  of  the  dead.  These  pyramids 
are  by  no  means  rivals  of  Cheops  and  its  mates,  either  in  size  or 
history,  but  are  a  conspicuous  feature  of  the  Nile’s  west  bank 
for  seventy  miles  or  more  south  of  the  capital. 

Why  this  laborious  effort  to  preserve  from  decay  the  bodies 
whence  life  and  spirit  have  departed  ?  The  doctrine  of  metemp¬ 
sychosis,  or  the  transmigration  of  souls,  offers  the  only  answer  to 
this  interrogation.  According  to  this  belief,  every  spirit  not 
thoroughly  purified  on  its  departure  from  the  body,  must  pass 
through  a  long  exile,  entering,  successively,  into  the  bodies  of 
different  animals,  and  returning  after  cycles  of  these  transforma¬ 
tions,  to  its  own  corporeal  form  again.  The  importance  of  find¬ 
ing  its  own  still  in  existence  and  in  a  tolerable  state  of  repair 
will  readily  occur  to  thoughtful  minds  !  But  besides  the  horrid 
possibility  of  failure  here,  the  disembodied  spirit  had  a  thousand 
other  things  to  dread.  Whenever  the  body  it  had  last  left 
became  subject  to  corruption,  the  course  of  its  migrations  was 
suspended,  and  its  ardently  desired  return  to  a  human  body — its 
own — delayed.  Hence,  every  form  of  animal  life  became  pre¬ 
cious,  as  the  possible  shrine  of  a  departed  friend.  The  greatest 
care  was  employed  in  preserving  all,  so  far  as  possible,  from 
becoming  decomposed.  This  was  effected  by  the  intricate  and 
mysterious  process  of  embalming,  in  which  certain  orders  of  the 
priesthood  were  almost  constantly  employed. 

After  migrations  of  three  thousand  years  through  inferior 
animal  forms,  the  spirit  was  permitted,  as  has  been  said,  to 
return  to  its  own  human  body,  and  to  try  its  chances  once  again. 

Now,  if  we  could,  by  a  prodigious  effort  of  imagination,  put 
ourselves  for  a  moment  in  the  place  of  an  Egyptian  of  the  olden 
time,  and  if  we  could  conceive  of  the  anxiety  with  which  we 
should  guard  against  the  possibility  of  a  “  failure  to  connect”  in 


284 


Yankee  Doodle  Goin ’  Up?” 


i  < 


the  endless  whirligig  I  have  described,  we  might  appreciate  why 
their  tombs  are  finer  than  their  palaces  ;  why  the  dead  were  in 
their  thoughts  more  than  the  living,  and  why,  when  this  gro¬ 
tesque  belief  had  passed  into  the  life  and  heart  of  the  nation,  the 
king,  who  had  all  resources  at  his  command,  should,  on  his  cor¬ 
onation  day,  put  his  whole  empire  under  contribution  to  begin 
for  him  a  tomb  which  should  rival  the  mountains  in  its  stability 
and  guard  his  paltry  dust  from  every  chance  of  harm. 

With  constant  notes  and  queries  about  the  uses  and  abuses 
of  the  pyramids,  we  passed  along.  We  crossed  the  limits  of  the 
belt  of  green,  which  is  old  Father  Nile’s  perpetual  gift  to  Egypt ; 
the  desert’s  golden  edge  came  nearer,  and  at  last,  our  white- 
robed  Arab  checked  his  steeds  at  the  foot  of  Cheops’  pyramid, 
where — shade  of  great  Pharaoh,  forgive  us  prosaic  Yankees!  — 
the  Cheops  restaurant  treated  us  to  Smyrna  dates  and  Turkish 
coffee.  A  banditti  of  Bedouins,  fierce-eyed  and  unsavory,  sur¬ 
rounded  us  as  we  emerged  from  our  retreat,  and  clamored  for  the 
privilege  of  pulling  and  pushing,  hoisting  and  hallooing  us  up 
the  saw-tooth  side  of  the  monster  pyramid.  We  got  speedily  to 
windward,  assured  them  that,  as  for  us,  we’d  “  not  the  least  idea 
of  going  up  ’  ’  (at  least,  not  now)  and  turned  aside  to  visit  the 
tomb-pits  at  the  left,  hoping  to  shake  off  the  odious  crew.  But 
you  might  just  as  well  try  to  dismiss  the  plague  by  a  dancing- 
room  bow  ;  the  old  lady  Fates,  by  raising  your  hat ;  or  the  neigh¬ 
borhood  bore  by  a  glance  at  your  chronometer.  They  careered 
before  us,  a  tatterdemalion  throng  ;  they  lagged  behind  us  ;  they 
helped  us  over  the  stray  stones  the  pyramid  has  shed,  with  offi¬ 
cious  hands  under  our  nervous  elbows,  and  when,  at  last,  Dr. 
Park  cleared  a  breathing  space  for  us  by  whirling  his  cane,  they 
danced  about  us,  beyond  the  circle  thus  marked  out ;  they  grinned, 
they  groaned,  they  laid  their  hands  upon  their  hearts  and  pointed 
with  melodramatic  finger  to  the  serene  heights  they  would  so 
gladly  help  us  climb,  while  the  one  refrain  from  which,  for  two 
consecutive  breaths  they  were  utterly  incapable  of  refraining,  was  : 
“Goin’  up,  mister  —  madam?”  “Yankee  Doodle  goin’  up? 
Ver’  good,  thankee.  Yankee  Doodle  go  up  ebery  time  !  ”  But 
we  passed  on  regardless,  and  they  wrere  left  lamenting.  We 
walked  upon  sealed  tombs  ;  the  whole  ground  for  miles  about  this 


Since  History's  Glimmering  Dawn.  285 

group  of  pyramids  is  honey-combed  with  them.  This  is  a  grave¬ 
yard  in  which  they  are  but  chief  monuments. 

Some  distance  from  old  Cheops,  we  saw  a  sandstone  rock 
much  worn  and  rounded.  While  we  were  wisely  theorizing  as 
to  how  it  came  to  be  here  on  this  almost  level  plateau,  we  walked 
around  to  the  other  side  of  this  queer,  rounded  rock  protruded 
from  the  clasping  sands,  when,  lo  !  the  oldest,  wisest  and  most 
baffling  face  the  world  has  seen,  looked  grandly  into  ours  ;  and 
our  ephemeral  forms  passed  from  the  unhistoric  sunshine  into  the 
shadow  which  the  Sphinx  has  cast  for  forty  centuries  !  The  worn 
and  rounded  rock  which  had  deceived  us,  was  only  its  ‘  *  back 
hair,”  which  I  am  obliged  to  report  as  very  much  spread  out, 
and  hence,  not  ‘ c  stylish  ’  ’  in  the  least.  It  is  an  unique  moment 
in  which  a  flitting  creature,  such  as  we  are,  pauses  in  his  change¬ 
ful  haste,  folds  his  weak  arms  and  confronts  the  steadiest  gaze 
that  has  ever  met  his  own  !  That  this  calm  and  not  unfeeling 
face  has  looked  out  thus,  over  the  level  sands  and  emerald  mead¬ 
ows  and  toward  the  steadfast  Nile  since  history’s  glimmering 
dawn,  we  know.  That  Abraham  stood  where  we  are  standing, 
and  mirrored  (in  the  eyes  that  witnessed  the  deliverance  of  Isaac  ! ) 
these  flowing  outlines,  this  low  brow,  these  rounded  lips,  we 
deem  altogether  probable.  That  Moses,  grandest  figure  of  antiq¬ 
uity,  has  gazed  upon  this  stern,  but  not  unpitying  face,  is  certain. 
That  Eastern  emperors  have  turned  aside  from  their  pompous 
march  to  see  it ;  that  Herodotus  asked  of  it  many  an  unheeded 
question  ;  that  thoughtful  Plato  measured  glances  with  it ;  that 
fierce  Cambyses  may  have  struck  its  nose  off  with  iconoclastic 
hammer — all  this  is  true  as  history.  And  stranger  than  it  all — 
throughout  the  three  decades  of  the  world’s  one  matchless  Eife, 
with  Bethlehem  at  their  beginning  and  Calvary  at  their  close, 
this  gaze  neither  brightened  at  the  first  nor  faltered  at  the  last. 
Thinking  about  it  all — sending  bewildered  fancy  onward  into  the 
wondrous  future,  upon  whose  happier  myriads  and  milder  des¬ 
tinies  this  changeless  face  shall  gaze,  one  sinks  beneath  the 
contrast  this  mystic  creature’s  history  affords  to  one’s  own  trivial 
joys  and  petty  griefs  so  like  to  those  of  gossamer- winged  insects 
which  the  evening  taper  blots  from  being.  But,  afterward,  one 
has  a  thought  more  worthy  of  a  soul  for  whom  the  Mightiest  died; 
it  is  a  thought  which  brightened  Plato’s  eyes  when  he  stood  here 


286 


“  I  Am  Immortal.  ’ ’ 


more  than  two  thousand  years  ago,  though  he  knew  not  the  'won¬ 
drous  truth  which  dims  my  own  with  happy  tears,  and  that 
thought  is  :  I  am  immortal  !  The  centuries  flow  onward  at  thy 
feet,  O  weird  and  mystic  Sphinx  !  yet  from  their  fertile  waves  thou 
dost  not  gather  aught  that  enriches  thee.  But  for  me  each  breath 
yields  blessings  that  shall  last  forever,  and  all  climes  and  ages  are 
my  gleaning  fields.  Not  like  an  ignoble  worm  do  I  crawl  beneath 
thee,  but  like  a  tireless  bird  I  soar  above  !  For  a  moment  I  have 
paused  to  muse  on  thy  strange,  unproductive  history,  but  now  I 
spread  my  wings  and  fly  away  to  other  scenes,  and  by  and  by, 
weary  of  one  small  world,  I  shall  journey  to  another,  and  so  on 
and  on  through  the  beneficent  universe  of  God  whom  I  love,  and 
who  loves  me,  and  whose  boundless  heart  is  my  eternal  home  ! 
Gaze  on  over  the  desert  and  the  still  meadows,  solemn  Sphinx  ! 
One  landscape  can  not  satisfy  eyes  so  insatiable  as  mine,  and  so, 
farewell ! 

Cheops  lifted  his  dimensions  toward  the  sky  in  a  style  so  thor¬ 
oughly  uncompromising  that  we  felt  quite  in  haste  to  set  our  feet 
on  his  bald  crown.  But  our  hurry  did  not  at  all  compare  with 
that  of  the  wild  Arabs  gathered  at  his  base  and  eager  for  their 
prey.  They  knew  it  had  been  only  a  question  of  time  when 
we  threw  them  off,  with  such  indomitable  purpose,  an  hour  ago  ; 
alas  !  we  knew  it  now.  For  the  first  time  in  all  our  journeyings, 
my  friend  Kate,  who  side  by  side  with  me  had  climbed  half  the 
cathedral  spires  of  Europe,  executed  marvels  of  mountaineering 
in  Switzerland  and  scrambled  to  the  summit  of  Vesuvius,  con¬ 
fessed  herself  vanquished,  without  striking  a  blow,  and  retreated 
to  the  carriage  to  watch  the  attack  gallantly  conducted  by  the 
rest  of  us.  Taught  by  all  the  guide-books,  warned  by  all  the 
tourists,  I  took  my  purse — although  it  was  not  dangerously  ple¬ 
thoric — from  my  pocket,  placed  it  in  the  hands  of  my  friend  who 
stayed  below,  and  told  the  three  men  who,  nolens  volens ,  had 
taken  my  destiny  in  hand,  that  if  I  did  not  hear  “  backsheesh,” 
until  I  regained  terra  firma ,  I  would  parody,  for  their  benefit,  the 
famous  lines  of  Uhland  : 

“Take,  O  boatman,  thrice  thy  fee, 

Take,  I  give  it  willingly.” 

I  then  resigned  myself  to  fate. 

Just  here  I  will  confess  something  not  usually  divulged,  viz.: 


A  “ Pair  of  Stairs  A 


287 


I  cherished  a  secret  determination  to  reach  the  top  before  any 
of  my  comrades.  The  undertaking  was  by  no  means  trivial.  I 
had  a  dim  suspicion  of  this  before  I  started,  which  became,  as 
I  set  out  (or  set  up,  rather),  the  most  vivid  “realizing  sense”  of 
all  my  history.  Three  feet  and  a  half  at  a  step  is  a  “  departure  ” 
hardly  excelled  by  Weston  of  pedestrian  fame,  and  when  the  in¬ 
clined  plane  one  is  trying  to  walk  is  set  on  edge,  as  in  the 
present  instance,  you  can  imagine  such  ‘  ‘  a  getting  upstairs  ’  ’  as 
it  would  be  hard  to  beat !  Just  try,  some  day,  in  the  solitude  of 
your  apartment,  to  step  “genteelly”  from  floor  to  mantel-piece, 
or  on  top  of  the  bureau  ;  do  this  one  hundred  times  in  fourteen 
minutes,  and  see  if  the  achievement  is  n’t  a  feat,  though  it  may 
not  prove  a  “success.” 

It  is  to  be  remembered  that  the  huge  slabs  of  granite  and 
porphyry  which  once  smoothly  covered  the  pyramid,  were  scaled 
off  in  the  time  of  the  caliphs  and  taken,  with  about  twenty  feet 
from  its  apex,  to  be  used  as  building  material  at  Cairo.  Climb¬ 
ing  the  side  of  Cheops,  then,  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  going 
up  the  most  outrageous  “  pair  of  stairs  ”  on  earth,  under  circum¬ 
stances  the  most  harrowing.  But  I  got  on  bravely,  in  spite  of 
all.  Climbing  rapidly,  I  did  not  once  sit  down  to  rest,  and 
stopped  but  briefly,  thrice,  to  breathe,  or  rather  to  puff,  like  an 
asthmatic  locomotive  ;  my  Bedouins,  meanwhile,  tranquilly  watch¬ 
ing  the  spectacle,  and  cool  as  if  they  had  but  just  emerged  from 
a  refrigerator.  Below,  I  could  hear  the  advancing  steps  of  my 
rivals  in  the  race,  and  this  lending  ardor  to  my  flagging  zeal,  I 
clambered  on. 

Ever  above  me,  with  extended  hands,  were  two  solemn,  but 
never  silent  Bedouins ;  ever  beneath  my  shoulders  were  the 
strong  hands  of  a  burly  Egyptian,  while  for  me,  the  only  possible 
thing  to  do  was  to  fix  my  foot  firmly  against  the  upper  edge  of 
the  stone  step  before  me,  and  to  grasp  with  desperate  grip  the ' 
steady  hands  of  those  above,  they  going  up  backward  with  an 
agility  which  put  to  shame  my  own  backwardness  about  coming 
forward  in  this  business  ! 

Well,  when  one  measures  off  dimensions  in  this  straightfor¬ 
ward  fashion,  one  soon  learns  that  they  amount  to  something.  I 
had  no  more  narrow  ‘  ‘  flings  ’  ’  about  the  Pyramids  of  Cheops.  It 


288 


Yankee  Doodle  ’  Most  Got  Up.” 


<  < 


was  huge.  I  said  this  with  starting  eyes  ;  I  felt  it  with  panting 
breath  and  purpling  cheeks.  There  was  no  more  spirit  in  me. 

The  wind  blew  almost  fiercely,  as  I  neared  the  summit. 
The  voices  of  my  friends  grew  silent,  a  long  way  below.  High 
up  in  the  crystal  air  I  saw  a  great  bird  sailing  with  strong  and 
steady  wing.  How  I  envied  his  calm  flight ! 

At  last,  I  lost  all  consciousness  of  everything  save  the  fright¬ 
ful,  sledge-hammer  beating  of  my  heart. 

“  Yankee  Doodle  ’most  got  up  !  ”  shouted  a  kindly  Arab,  and 
in  a  moment  more  I  was  standing,  tremblingly,  on  the  broad 
summit  of  the  pyramid.  Though  more  dead  than  alive,  I  in¬ 
sisted  (in  deference  to  the  heroic  name  of  “  Yankee  ”)  in  crawling 
to  the  loose  rocks  piled  on  the  center  of  the  platform,  and  seating 
myself  triumphantly  upon  the  topmost  stone.  Taking  from  my 
pocket  a  Jaffa  orange  (brought  with  this  same  intent)  I  tore  it 
open  and  buried  my  parched  lips  in  its  juicy  pulp.  If  I  were 
called  upon  to  name  the  most  delectable  sensation  that  ever  human 
palate  knew  I  should  refer  to  the  foregoing  incident. 

You’ve  no  idea  how  quiet  and  composed  I  was,  though,  as 
the  rest  came  wheezing  into  view,  three  minutes  afterward  ; 
opera-glass  in  hand,  I  was  counting  the  minarets  of  Cairo,  as  the 
fainting  trio  struggled  to  the  top,  and  were  met  by  my  Arabs 
grinning  from  ear  to  ear  at  our  achievements  ! 

And  here  we  were,  as  the  purple  twilight  fell,  a  thoughtful, 
and,  strange  to  say,  a  silent  company.  There  were  eighteen  of 
us,  Arabs  and  all,  and  yet  we  were  not  crowded. 

It  had  required  no  ordinary  eloquence  to  still  the  clamor  of 
our  dozen  swarthy  escorts.  To  put  the  much-desired  quietus 
upon  the  noisiest  of  them,  I  had  agreed  that  if  he  would  but 
hold  his  tongue  for  fifteen  minutes,  I  would  do  what  in  no  in¬ 
stance  I  had  done  in  famous  places  hitherto  (save  on  the  white 
forehead  of  a  skull  in  the  Paris  Catacombs),  inscribe  my  name. 
The  Arab  carefully  scraped  out  the  autograph  of  some  member 
of  the  Smith  family  to  make  room  for  me,  the  whole  summit 
being  as  thickly  planted  out  to  names  as  a  Dutch  garden  to  cab¬ 
bages.  While  he  erased  the  autograph  of  this  luckless  candi¬ 
date  for  immortality,  my  Bedouin  assured  me  (in  most  startling 
English)  that  he  kept  his  big  knife  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 
cut  the  names  of  the  heroic  few  who  reached  this  goal,  and  that 


% 


Smith's  Autograph  vs.  The  Pyramids. 


289 


when  I  came  again  I  should  just  see  how  he  had  cared  for 
mine  and  kept  its  sprawling  capitals  in  good  repair  (more  par¬ 
ticularly  if  I  paid  him  a  shilling  for  such  service).  In  this  last 
statement,  however,  my  faith  was  irremediably  weakened  by  the 
scratching-out  process  through  which  poor  Smith’s  autograph 
had  just  now  passed  ! 

But  all  this  time  we  had  been  sitting  dangerously  near  the 
western  edge  of  Cheops’  pyramid,  with  the  most  significant  of 
panoramas  spread  out  before  us.  The  charm  of  evening's  earliest 
hour,  the  zest  of  novelty,  the  spice  of  danger,  the  chastening 
thought  of  pathos  —  all  these  united  to  make  the  time  forever 
memorable. 

That  was  a  break-neck  scramble  down  the  side  of  Cheops  as 
the  darkness  fell  !  The  Arabs  said  to  me  (as  they  doubtless  say 
to  each  ambitious  tourist),  “  Yankee  Doodle  ver’  good  fust  rate.” 
As  they  conducted  me  —  and  a  long  way  I  found  it  —  from  the 
point  where  I  alighted,  back  to  the  carriage,  two  of  them  put  a 
hand  apiece  under  my  elbows  and  I  fairly  flew  over  the  ground, 
they  delighting  in  the  sport  and  telling  me  that  I  had  “  Arab 
feet,  ’  ’  which  (if  I  had)  they  lent  me. 

With  facts,  fancies,  and  “guesses  at  truth”  in  mind,  we 
walked  on  in  the  gathering  twilight  toward  the  entrance  of  the 
King’s  tomb.  This  entrance,  carefully  concealed  during  thou¬ 
sands  of  years,  but  discovered  by  the  indefatigable  Belzoni,  now 
yawned  black  and  ominous  in  the  uncertain  light.  Above  its 
solemn  doorway,  in  letters  several  feet  long,  done  in  black  paint, 
we  had  the  mortification  of  seeing  this  inscription  : 

“  PAUL  TUCKER,  OF  NEW  YORK.” 

All  the  way  up  the  Nile,  even  to  Philse,  we  had  found  this 
same  epitaph  of  American  refinement ;  carved  in  the  Temple  of 
Jupiter  Ammon  at  Thebes  ;  scrawled  upon  Memnon’s  pedestal ; 
and  cut  beside  the  mystic  sculptures  of  Abydos.  But  on  a  tablet 
so  tempting  as  the  front  angle  of  the  “  big  pyramid,”  the  confid¬ 
ing  Paul  had  vouchsafed  a  bit  of  personal  history  eleswhere 
withheld.  Beneath  his  name  he  had  printed  in  straggling  capi¬ 
tals,  this  time  not  more  than  a  foot  apiece  in  altitude  : 

“  aged  18  1-2.” 

It  was  a  pleasant  and  consoling  thing  to  know  how  tender  were 
19 


290 


A  Dolorous  Procession. 


his  3^ears.  There’s  always  hope — more  than  we  churlish  old  folks 
may  be  inclined  to  think,  “  concerning  veal” — as  the  country 
parson  said. 

The  entrance  to  the  tomb,  for  the  sake  of  which  the  pyra¬ 
mid  was  reared,  had  been  carefully  concealed  in  former  ages.  We 
can  but  admire  the  ingenuity  which  located  this  opening  twenty- 
three  feet  to  the  right,  rather  than  in  the  center,  where  one  would 
naturally  look  for  it.  Another  precaution  hardly  less  surprising, 
was  to  seal  up  the  passage-way,  narrow  and  intricate  as  it  is, 
when  the  royal  builder  had  been  laid  in  his  tomb,  with  blocks  of 
granite,  so  much  more  difficult  to  break  through  than  the  ordi¬ 
nary,  calcareous  stones  of  the  -  pyramid,  that  a  passage  has  been 
forced  around  them.  In  these,  as  in  every  feature  of  the  pyra¬ 
mid,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  security  of  the  body  one  day  to  be  called 
for  by  the  soul  was  the  controlling  purpose  of  its  design.  Through 
a  passage  three  feet  eleven  inches  high,  and  over  three  hundred 
feet  in  length,  along  a  downward  and  then  upward  angle  of  about 
26°,  we  wended  our  weary  way  to  the  king’s  tomb.  Clinging 
now  to  slippery,  now  to  cobwebbed  walls,  anon  to  the  sleeve  of 
some  officious  Arab  ;  blinded  by  dust  from  the  wings  of  countless 
bats,  and  finally  measuring  off  the  distance  on  our  hands  and 
knees,  we  made  a  dolorous  procession  to  the  center  of  the  pyra¬ 
mid  with  its  empty  sepulcher.  We  found  as  the  reward  of  our 
pains  a  rectangular-shaped  chamber,  lined  with  red  granite.  In 
its  center  stands  a  sarcophagus  of  red  granite,  too  large  to  have 
been  introduced  through  the  entrance  passage,  and  therefore 
necessarily  placed  here  before  the  pyramid  was  built  around  it. 

Notwithstanding  all  the  precautions  mentioned,  this  sarcopha¬ 
gus  has  been  empty  and  without  a  lid  since  the  time  of  the  Caliphs, 
when,  in  the  expectation  of  finding  treasure,  an  entrance  was 
forced  and  the  king’s  body  was  thrown  out  and  treated  with  the 
grossest  indignities  by  the  rabble  in  the  streets  of  Cairo.  Sic 
transit  gloria  mundi!  Vandal  tourists  have  hammered  the  cor¬ 
ners  of  the  sarcophagus  till  they  look  as  though  a  grindstone 
had  been  scooped  from  each  one  of  them,  and  straightway  our 
Arabs  began  to  pound  off  “specimens”  for  us  at  five  piastres 
each. 

Waving  them  solemnly  aside,  Dr.  Park  marshaled  our  entire 
party  of  five  into  this  coffin  of  the  elder  world,  where  we  stood 


Dr.  Park  of  Andover  in  the  King's  Tomb. 


291 


in  a  strange  looking  row,  with  the  flickering  torch-ligh^  on  our 
faces,  while  at  the  bidding  of  our  leader,  we  sang  that  curious 
old  hymn  : 

“  Hark,  from  the  tombs  a  doleful  sound  !  ” 

Our  voices  woke  some  most  lugubrious  echoes  ;  our  Arabs  listened, 
looking  more  than  “  dumb-founded,”  at  our  performance.  Dr. 
Park  smiled  audibly.  But  his  mood  quickly  passed  from  gay  to 
grave.  “Sing  ‘Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me!’”  were  his  next 
words.  With  swelling  hearts  we  joined  in  the  dear  old  hymn 
we  learned  so  long  ago,  so  far  away.  At  its  close,  solemn  and 
deep  sounded  the  good  man’s  voice  ;  I  shall  not  soon  forget  the 
words  : 

“The  pyramids  may  crumble,  but  the  Rock  of  Ages  stands 
firm  and  secure.  The  old  idolatry  that  reared  this  awful  tomb 
has  had  its  long,  its  little  day.  The  kingdom  of  our  Lord  and  of 
His  Christ  is  ushered  in,  and  we,  His  ransomed  sous  and  daugh¬ 
ters  sing  of  Him  who  hath  so  loved  us,  standing  in  the  empty 
coffin  of  the  idolatrous  and  cruel  Pharaoh.” 

After  all,  this  was  the  lesson  we  shall  cherish  longest,  the 
truest  lesson  of  Cheops,  old  and  gray. 

Let  Egypt  boast  her  mystic  monuments,  which,  in  the  race 
with  time,  have  come  off  grimly  victorious  ;  a  Christian’s  eye 
pierces  the  boundless  blue  above  their  heads,  and  gets  a  glimpse 
of  more  enduring  habitations,  while,  as  he  turns  away  from  their 
pitiless  masses  of  stone,  his  humble,  happy  faith  sings  of  the 
“  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me  !  ” 


29  2 


First  Promenade  in  Jerusalem. 


SYRIA — THE  HOME  OF  OUR  SAVIOUR. 

“  Over  whose  acres  walked  those  blessed  feet 
Which  eighteen  hundred  years  ago  were  nailed 
For  our  advantage  to  the  bitter  Cross.” 

On  the  night  of  March  6,  1870,  I  closed  my  eyes  upon  Egypt, 
and  in  a  comfortable  cabin  of  the  Russian  steamship,  “Grand 
Duke  Constantine,”  after  a  tranquil  passage,  opened  them  at  six 
o’clock  upon  a  low  sandy  coast  and  hill- top  crowned  by  a  white- 
walled  town,  while  sunlight  from  behind  the  clouds  spread  broad 
blades  of  light  over  the  distant  lands — light  lovelier  to  me  even  • 
than  that  of  home.  Between  me  and  the  shore  shimmered  the 
sea,  even  in  the  unwonted  calm,  sustaining  by  its  motion  the 
unsatisfactory  reputation  of  the  port,  or  want  of  port,  at  Jaffa. 
Yonder  the  Great  Apostle  had  his  vision,  which  gave  even  to  me, 
a  Gentile  maiden,  a  right  to  look  upon  the  country  of  God’s 
chosen  people  with  a  sense  of  home  stirring  my  heart,  and  such 
thoughts  of  Him  with  whom  “there  is  neither  Jew,  nor  Greek, 
bond  nor  free,”  as  filled  my  eyes  brimful  of  tears,  and  silenced  my 
voice  which,  in  earlier,  less  tender  years,  nothing  ever  could  un¬ 
steady  or  place  beyond  my  own  control. 

March  8 .—En  route  for  Jerusalem.  The  day  has  dawned  on  which  my 
eyes  shall  mirror  the  city  of  our  Ford.  From  yonder  valley  to  the  right, 
Joshua  made  the  sun  stand  still.  On  this  side  is  the  supposed  site  of  Em- 
maus.  Here  we  first  strike  the  trail  of  the  Divine  Pilgrim  ;  in  that  village 
yonder  John  the  Baptist  was  born  ;  in  this  brook  David  got  the  stones  to  slay 
Goliath  ;  here  the  Philistines  were  encamped  ;  there  across  the  valley  were 
the  Israelites.  Boy-peddlers  would  have  slings  to  sell  here,  if  they  had  any 
“gumption”  !  I  ride  on  alone,  ahead  and  out  of  sight  of  our  procession, 
pass  wretched  women,  fierce-looking  men,  files  of  camels,  flocks  of  sheep, 
processions  of  donkeys  with  bells  on.  At  last  I  am  alone — in  sight  of  Jeru¬ 
salem  ! 

March  9.  —  First  promenade  in  Jerusalem  through  the  Via  Dolorosa. 
Saw  a  fallen  pillar  where  Christ  is  said  to  have  reposed — covered  writh  pil- 
grijns’  kisses  ;  another  pillar  where  the  cock  stood  to  crow  ;  a  stone  in  the 
wall  with  the  impress  of  the  cross — a  boy  comes  up,  puts  his  fingers  in  the 
hole  of  this  stone  and  goes  off  kissing  them  ;  wretched  pavements,  no  car¬ 
riages,  no  realization  whatever  of  the  glorious  city  of  our  God. 

Jerusalem  is  the  most  disagreeable,  dismal,  ugly  city  I  have  anywhere 
seen.  There  is  so  little  that  attracts,  and  so  much  that  repels  ;  everything  is 
so  shut  up,  streets  not  only  narrow,  but  with  heavy  stone  arches  running 
sometimes  their  whole  length.  I  can  heartily  echo  the  sentiment  of  some 
author  I  have  recently  read,  that  he  congratulated  himself  upon  the  fact 


Sacrilegious  Fraud. 


293 


that  the  Jerusalem  of  David’s  song  and  Solomon’s  wisdom  and  magnificence, 
and,  above  all,  of  Christ’s  divine  love,  is  half  a  hundred  feet  below  where 
we  are  walking. 

Reading  up  Murray  half  an  hour  is  worth  a  whole  morning  of  “  barn¬ 
door  flights  of  knowledge”  from  the  regulation  guide,  even  when  he  is  as 
nice  a  man  as - ,  who,  however,  pointed  out  the  Angel  of  the  Annuncia¬ 

tion  in  one  of  the  absurd  daubs  of  the  Armenian  Convent,  as  “the  devil  ”  ; 
and  when,  not  liking  to  hurt  the  poor  fellow’s  feelings,  we  mildly  hinted 
that  it  was  curious  the  devil  should  have  wings,  and  carry  his  hands  filled 
with  white  lilies,  he  said,  anxiously,  "But  they  dress  the  old  gentleman 
very  oddly  sometimes,  you  know,  that  is,  these  rascals  do.”  But  at  the 
Holy  Sepulcher  this  afternoon,  when  he  stoutly  maintained  that  the  Mater 
Dolorosa  and  John  the  Beloved,  on  either  side  the  crucified  Saviour,  were  the 
two  thieves,  I  could  hardly  contain  my  amusement,  and  his  “stock  ”  as  “  un 
homme savant”  took  a  mighty  fall ! 

THE  TOMB  OF  CHRIST. 

I  would  approach  that  spot  with  reverent  feet  for  its  name’s  sake,  and 
because  of  the  reverence  of  ages  which  has  been  here  so  freely  spent.  I 
always  thought  it  would  be  to  me  a  solemn  and  a  tender  hour  in  which 
I  stood  beside  the  place  where  men  have  even  said  that  mystic  body  lay  in 
which  He  bore  our  burdens,  in  which  He  tasted  for  us  the  bitterness  of 
death.  But  after  seeing  Moses’  rod,  and  Adam’s  tomb,  and  “the  stone  that 
cried  out,”  my  mood  was  spoiled  ;  grief  at  the  wounding  of  my  Saviour  in 
the  house  of  his  friends,  at  the  example  given  to  infidels  in  the  very  temple 
of  his  sepulcher,  displaced  all  other  thoughts.  I  bent  at  the  low  entrance 
door,  made  with  a  view  to  exacting  this  homage,  and  stood  beside  the  mar¬ 
ble  slab  on  which,  “they  say,”  the  angel  sat  whom  the  gentle  Mary  saw. 
Some  pilgrims  from  Armenia  were  just  folding  and  putting  in  cases  an  altar- 
cloth  of  the  dimensions  of  the  tomb  which  they  had  consecrated  by  contact 
with  this  slab.  A  frightful  daub  representing  Christ  hung  over  it ;  bouquets 
of  weed-like  flowers,  tinsel  and  tawdry  adornings  unworthy  of  a  child’s  doll¬ 
house  surrounded  the  most  august  of  tombs.  A  frowzy  monk  stood  beside 
it  on  guard.  Kate  sat  down  upon  the  tomb,  being  quite  weary,  and  forget¬ 
ting  what  it  was  ;  luckily  his  head  wTas  turned  at  the  moment,  and  before  he 
observed  the  sacrilege  I  gave  her  a  push  that  spoke  volumes.  The  pilgrims 
knelt  and  kissed  the  ground  before  entering  the  sepulcher  and  went  forth 
from  it  backward.  I  thought  I  would  have  given  something  just  then  fora 
little  of  this  faith,  but,  dear  me  !  fervor  and  filth,  sanctity  and  smells  seem 
to  go  hand  in  hand.  Here  at  Jerusalem,  processions  of  the  different  creeds 
are  marching  about  constantly.  In  the  Greek  chapel  there  is  continual 
hopping  up  and  down  ;  prostrations  of  forehead  to  floor,  and  all  the  ardor  we 
had  observed  so  often  at  St.  Izak’s  and  the  Kazan  in  Russia.  The  Catholics 
seemed  very  business-like,  keeping  excellent  time,  stepping  about  briskly, 
and  going  through  their  genuflexions  in  a  most  workman-like  manner  ; 
while  the  Armenians  droned  out  sonorous  prayers,  and  their  long  black 
garments  trailed  not  ungracefully  behind  them  as  they  paced  off  to  their 


294 


Something  Genuine. 


appointed  altars.  The  quarrels  amid  these  brethren  are  such  that  a  key  to 
the  hcly  sepulcher  is  kept  by  the  Mohammedans  who  act  as  peace-makers  ! 

Most  pitiful  of  all  the  places  shown,  is  the  summit  of  Calvary.  In  the 
great  open  court  before  the  church,  squat  venders  of  beads,  ivory  crosses^ 
cigarholders,  Jericho  roses,  and  other  souvenirs  of  the  so-called  sacred  place. 

March  io. — A  day  of  unrivaled  execution.  Mr.  Floyd  brought  us  per¬ 
mission  for  the  Mosque  of  Omar,  which  a  few  years  since  could  not  at  any 
price  be  entered,  and  later,  often  required  a  hundred  dollars  for  the  privilege  ; 
but  thanks  to  the  efforts  of  the  American  Consul  it  is  now  open  to  our  coun¬ 
trymen  at  five  francs  each.  We  are  obliged  to  take  off  our  shoes  and  put  on 
slippers,  that  are  furnished,  and  our  party  scuffs  along  through  the  wrorld- 
famed  Mosque,  looking  with  watchful  eyes  for  traces  of  the  temple,  dear  to 
Jew  and  Christian,  whose  undoubted  site  was  here.  It  is  comforting  to  come 
at  last  upon  something  true,  and  to  find  it  even  in  Jerusalem  !  Through 
courts  and  arcliwTays,  carven  pulpits  and  places  of  prayer,  we  reach  the 
Mosque  itself.  In  its  external  appearance  from  any  point  yet  seen,  I  have 
been  gravely  disappointed  in  it.  The  interior  is  still  more  unsatisfying; 
dark,  gloomy,  and  heterogeneous,  made  up  of  little  bits  and  big  bits  of 
Oriental  marble  and  other  choice  stones,  all  said  to  be  fragments  from  the 
temple.  Many  columns  stand  in  double  rows  around  a  great  bare  rock  ;  the 
peak  of  Mount  Moriah,  projecting  from  the  floor,  surrounded  by  a  railing 
and  overhung  by  an  old  silk  quilt,  is  the  central  point  of  attraction  to  infidel 
and  Christian  eyes  alike.  This  looks  so  genuine  and  is  so  palpable,  that 
the  prints  of  Gabriel’s  fingers,  made  in  holding  the  rock  down  in  its  place, 
instead  of  permitting  it  to  follow  its  impulse  and  Mahomet  to  heaven,  when 
that  worthy  took  his  flight,  did  not  destroy  our  belief  in  its  authenticity. 
Under  this  rock  is  a  grotto  where  are  shown  the  “  praying  places  ”  of  Solo¬ 
mon  and  David.  The  latter  is  very  curious.  The  top  is  a  trefoil,  and  at  each 
side  there  are  two  little  capitals  and  two  little  columns,  each  divided  into  two 
strands,  and  each  pair  braided  together  in  a  very  curious,  graceful  style,  the 
whole  in  design  entirely  different  from  anything  hitherto  seen.  This  we  all 
examined  with  great  interest,  believing  it  may  really  once  have  been  a  part 
of  the  Temple  of  Jehovah.  Another  fragment  in  similar  design  also  inter¬ 
ested  us,  as  did  old  bits  of  marble  in  the  walls  and  on  the  floors.  The  real 
Jerusalem  is  so  far  beneath  our  feet  that  wre  shall  never  press  a  stone  where 
our  Saviour’s  feet  have  passed,  if  it  be  not  here  and  now.  This  thought 
gave  an  inexpressible  sweetness  and  pathos  to  the  dark,  old  Mosque  of  the 
Moslem.  I  reached  my  hand  through  the  jealous  bars,  and  laid  it  on  the 
naked  rock  which  once  supported  the  altar  of  the  Most  High,  whereon  the 
offering  was  typical  of  Christ.  I  felt  as  if  that  contact  placed  me  in  sym¬ 
pathetic  union  with  the  long  line  of  prophets  and  the  sad  elder  race  who 
waited  and  hoped  for  a  Redeemer,  wrho  foretold  the  rising  of  the  Star  which 
should  shed  the  only  light  of  love  and  hope  our  world  has  ever  known. 
But  jealous  eyes  were  on  me,  for  Moslems  hate  the  Christian  intruders 
from  the  noble  lauds  they  fear,  and  harsh  voices  called  me  to  “come 
along,”  using  the  only  English  word  they  had  acquired,  and  I  left  the 


Upon  the  Mount  of  Olives.  295 

gloomy  Mosque,  sad  that  in  the  City  of  Christ,  hate  and  intolerance  had 
undisputed  sway. 

Later  -we  -went  to  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane,  all  planted  out  to  flowers, 
and  sat  under  one  of  the  great  olive  trees,  while  an  old  Italian  monk, 
twenty  years  an  exile  from  his  country,  clipped  flowers  for  us  with  the  long 
scissors  at  his  girdle.  We  cut  for  ourselves  twigs  from  the  solemn  old  trees  ; 
accepted  the  olives  given  us  by  the  old  monk  ;  made  the  acquaintance  of  his 
comfortable  cat ;  mounted  to  his  pleasant  rooms  in  one  corner  of  the  garden 
for  a  drink  of  water,  and  raised  our  eyebrows  contemptuously  as  the  op¬ 
position  “  garden  ”  of  the  Greek  Church  was  pointed  out  near  by.  But  not 
at  Gethsemane  as  in  some  other  places,  did  I  realize  that  One  had  been  here 
to  whom  the  wide  world  offers  no  rival — One  who  was  mystical — Divine  ! 
To  close  the  day’s  investigation  we  went  under  the  city  into  the  great  cave 
made  by  the  quarriers  of  the  temple,  whose  tool-marks  are  fresh  upon  the 
lofty  walls. 

March  13. — Upon  the  Mount  of  Olives  in  the  afternoon.  We  went  out 
on  our  donkeys,  followed  the  path  by  which  David  went  with  ashes  on  his 
head  when  Absalom  rebelled  against  him,  and  climbed  to  the  summit  of  the 
middle  division  of  the  mountain — for,  as  all  the  world  knows,  Olivet  has 
three.  Here  we  contemplated  Jerusalem  from  the  top  of  a  Moslem  minaret ; 
studying  its  topography  and  getting  into  our  minds  more  thoroughly  than 
we  could  elsewhere,  the  relation  of  the  so-called  mountains  on  which  it 
stands  to  the  desolate,  stony  valleys  that  surround  it  on  every  side.  Here 
we  had  our  first  real  view  of  the  Dead  Sea,  which  in  this  crystal  air  seemed 
but  a  little  distance  off,  though  we  shall  sadly  learn  the  contrary,  I  suppose, 
when  we  measure  it  inch  by  inch  over  the  worst  paths  ever  tried  by  human 
enterprise  and  patient  horses’  hoofs.  Here  the  blue  mountains  of  Moab 
spread  themselves  dimly  “as  a  dream  when  one  awaketh,”  and  the  Judean 
hills  touched  our  hearts  with  manifold  suggestions  of  the  blessed  Presence 
that  vanished  from  them  to  the  mount  of  God  many  a  sad  century  ago. 
Away  beyond  the  stony  promontories  that  overhang  the  stonier  valleys,  was 
Bethlehem.  Yonder  was  the  path  where  Jesus  walked  so  often  seeking  the 
home  of  his  friends,  Mary,  Martha  and  Lazarus ;  by  the  winding  road 
nearer  us  he  made  his  triumphal  entry  into  the  city ;  from  some  blessed 
height  beneath  our  eyes — what  matters  it  that  we  can  not  tell  which  one  ! — 
he  floated  into  the  airy  regions  suited  to  his  resurrected  body,  and  thence 
away  to  the  mystic  heayens  we  love  to  think  about  in  our  exalted  hours. 
What  a  matchless  landscape  this,  impossible  to  rival  on  the  wide  face  of  the 
beautiful  earth  ;  more  significant  to  the  Christian  heart  than  all  the  classic 
plains  or  poetic  mountain  heights  of  Europe,  the  grand  peaks  and  vales 
of  Switzerland,  or  the  tender  beauty  of  the  home  scenes  his  longing  heart 
recalls. 

But  around  us  were  clamoring  Arabs  intent  upon  showing  us  the  very 
spot  whence  the  Ascension  took  place,  the  very  prints  left  by  the  upward 
tending  feet  of  the  Redeemer.  We  go  to  see  them  duly,  and  escape  down 
the  hill-side,  gathering  flowers  for  dear  ones  at  home  who  will  never  have 
this  landscape  under  their  wistful  eyes,  and  picking  up  bits  of  agate  and 


296 


A  Sabbath  in  Jerusalem. 


onyx  which  have  lain  here  for  unnumbered  ages,  been  turned  a  thousand 
times  by  the  rude  plowshare  of  the  husbandman,  and  we  please  ourselves 
by  fancying  that  possibly  our  Saviour’s  footsteps  may  have  touched  them 
as  he  passed  along  the  hill-side. 

A  Sabbath  in  Jerusalem  !  An  afternoon  upon  the  Mount  of  Olives ! 
To  a  devout  soul  this  were  worth  a  pilgrimage  longer  than  any  other  that 
the  earth’s  wide  belt  makes  possible.  And  yet — and  yet — we  were  so  cold  ; 
the  wind  blew  so  searchingly  ;  curious  Arabs  pursued  us  so  relentlessly;  the 
intellectual  part  of  studying  the  landscape,  and  the  practical  part  of  keeping 
on  the  backs  of  slippery  donkeys  distracted  our  attention  so  that  the  spirit¬ 
ual  part,  those  shy,  sweet  feelings  of  the  heart — those  tender,  child-like 
aspirations — those  deep  and  solemn  contemplations  more  suited  to  the  spot 
than  to  any  other  in  all  the  earth,  had  little  chance  to  hold  us.  But  I  had 
some  quiet  moments  of  priceless  worth.  Gleams  and  glimpses  of  what  all 
this  may  mean  flashed  through  my  soul.  The  gentle,  helpless  face  of 
Mary — my  sister  Mary — shrined  forever  in  the  center  of  my  heart,  looked 
out  upon  me  from  her  dying  pillow,  and  that  failing  voice  uttered  again  the 
words  :  “  Oh,  Christ  has  come  to  me  !  He  holds  me  by  the  hand  ;  He  says, 

‘  She  tried  to  be  good,  but  she  wandered  ;  but  I’ll  forgive  and  save  her’  !  ” 

That  same  Christ  to  whom  we  trusted  Mary  walked  upon  this  mount¬ 
ain  ;  here  spent  the  night  of  His  infinite  agony,  and  purchased  her  sweet 
soul’s  redemption  on  the  bitter  cross,  within  sight  of  where  I  stand ! 

Pale  and  wasted  and  framed  in  hair  made  gray  by  suffering,  more  than 
age,  another  face  looked  on  me,  and  my  honored  father’s  voice  rang  in  my 
ears:  “Christ  lived,  and  died,  and  rose  again!  Upon  this  faith  I  walk 
right  out  over  the  awful  gulf  of  death — and  I  am  not  afraid  !  ’’  Ah,  how  these 
tender  memories,  so  sad,  so  sacred,  so  inspiring,  bring  home  to  me  the 
reality  of  that  religion  which  was  born  in  yonder  gray  and  mournful  city, 
and  hence  has  swept  its  way  to  the  remotest  corner  of  our  world !  The 
poet’s  song  brings  relief  to  my  heart,  which  is  surcharged  with  trembling 
love  and  timid  hope,  and  prayerfully  I  sing, 

“  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me  ! 

Let  me  hide  myself  in  thee  ; 

Let  the  water  and  the  blood, 

From  thy  wounded  side  that  flowed, 

Be  of  sin  the  double  cure  ; 

Save  from  wrath  and  make  me  pure.” 

Oh,  I  must  go  again  and  yet  again  to  Olivet ;  no  experience  of  all  my 
life  has  seemed  so  sweet  and  so  significant  as  this! 

It  is  a  mournful  thing  to  see  the  white-robed  women  of  Jerusalem,  their 
beauty  or  hideousness  concealed  by  colored  handkerchiefs  wrapped  about 
their  faces,  congregating  around  the  graves  that  fleck  the  valleys  and  the 
hill-sides  of  Jerusalem  beyond  the  walls.  I  wonder  why  they  go  there,  poor 
things  !  and  whether  it  is  to  be  merry  or  sad.  Sometimes  I  have  seen  flowers 
upon  a  little  stony  grave  and  children  playing  around,  while  the  women, 
patient  and  still,  sat  beside  the  lonesome  mound.  As  we  toddled  in  at  the 
Damascus  gate  (my  odd  word  describes,  not  inaptly,  the  motion  of  our  droll 


In  Camp  Outside  the  Jaffa  Gate. 


297 


little  donkeys) ,  a  cannon  was  fired,  and  another  and  another  still,  signals 
for  closing  the  gates  at  evening.  The  Spanish  Consul  here,  a  pleasant  gen¬ 
tleman  who  sits  opposite  us  at  table  d'hote,  says  that  at  Ramadan,  the  fasting 
time  of  the  Mohammedans,  the  firing  of  a  cannon  informs  the  people 
when  they  can  eat,  when  they  must  commence  their  rigorous  abstinence, 
which  lasts  from  sunrise  to  sunset  and  in  which  no  good  Mohammedan  eats, 
drinks,  or  even  smokes  ;  also,  in  the  night,  it  arouses  the  faithful  to  prayer. 
This  is  the  first  religious  use  to  which  I  have  heard  gunpowder  put  in  all 
my  travels  ! 

I  can  never  tell  what  force  and  added  pathos  I  found  in  all  the  wonder¬ 
ful  Bible  wTords  after  the  experience  of  this  marvelous  week,  and  this  chief 
Sabbath  of  my  life.  Why,  the  Bible  is  going  to  be  a  new  book  to  me  after 
this  !  God  grant  it  may  be  “new”  in  a  deep,  spiritual  sense  ;  that  it  may 
take  hold  upon  my  careless  life,  may  make  me  what  all  teaching  and  the 
most  golden  opportunities  must  fail  unless  they  accomplish,  a  better  human 
creature,  nearer  to  what  God  meant  when  He  created  me  ;  more  as  Christ 
taught  us  we  must  be  to  serve  Him  on  earth  and  live  with  Him  in  heaven. 

Bishop  Kingsley,  Dr.  Bannister,  Dr.  March  and  company  reported 
themselves  as  comfortably  encamped  beyond  the  Jaffa  gate,  and  we  lost 
no  time  in  getting  our  luggage  into  the  prescribed  compass,  and  walking 
behind  the  same  as  piled  upon  the  broad  back  of  El  Hani’s  servants  it 
traversed  the  dark  and  winding  streets.  With  the  least  possible  ceremony 
we  introduced  ourselves  in  camp,  where  three  large  tents,  besides  the 
“  kitchen,”  were  in  order,  the  star-spangled  banner  floating  from  that  occu¬ 
pied  by  the  wTide-awake  Presbyterian  quartet,  Drs.  March,  Goodwin  and 
Hayden,  and  Brother  Ezra  Coan.  We  found  our  quarters  quite  comfortable, 
one  large  tent  adorned  within  after  the  manner  of  a  patch-work  quilt  of  the 
“basket  pattern,  ”  red,  white,  blue  and  green  calico  in  circles  and  triangles, 
and  at  the  top  branching  out  into  a  flaming  star  ;  pieces  of  carpet  cover  the 
ground,  four  iron  bed.teads  stand  thickly  around  (Mr.  and  Mrs,  Paine,  of 
Boston,  are  our  companions),  a  table  occupies  the  center  with  a  decent  red 
“spread  ”  thereon  ;  there  are  two  tin  wash-basins  and  pitchers,  and  one  brass 
candlestick  suitably  equipped  for  evening.  We  hunt  up  the  gimlets  we  have 
provided  (at  our  friend  Warburton’s  suggestion),  bore  into  the  tent  pole, 
regardless  of  any  sensitiveness  on  El  Hani’s  part,  and  hereon  hang  curtains 
to  divide  the  tent,  riding-whips,  waterproofs,  carriage-top  hats,  and  so  on. 
Things  begin  to  “  look  like  living.”  I  get  out  our  books,  and  finding  in  my 
Bible  the  description  of  the  temple  built  by  Solomon,  read  it,  placing  myself 
in  fancy  where  I  stood  last  evening,  imagining  its  glories  replacing  the 
swelling  dome  of  the  Caliph’s  Mosque  and  listening  with  ear  intent  to  that 
stately  prayer  of  the  wise  king  with  its  impressive  iteration  of  “#Hear  us,  O 
Lord,  in  heaven  thy  dwelling  place,  and  when  thou  shalt  hear,  forgive  !” 
Ah,  but  it  is  a  new  book  altogether,  this  Bible  I  have  read  so  long  and  left 
so  long  unread  ;  what  would  I  not  give  now  to  have  it  all  “  at  my  tongue’s 
end  ”  !  I  also  read  “  Esther,”  being  interested  particularly  in  the  account  of 
the  pilgrims  to  the  Holy  Land  ;  and  make  out  from  the  various  guide-books 
a  list  of  such  places  as  I  yet  must  see  or  must  revisit  in  this  city,  which  has 


298 


At  Bethany . 


a  charm  for  me — although  it  is  the  darkest,  dreariest  and  most  comfortless 
I  ever  saw — that  no  other  can  ever  attain.  Jerusalem  and  Paris  !  What 
contrast  greater  does  our  various  earth  afford  !  They  are  at  the  two  opposite 
poles  of  human  life  and  history.  The  one  gratifies  every  sense,  pleases  every 
taste,  is  the  bright,  consummate  flower  of  modern  civilization,  the  long  result 
of  time  in  its  most  winning  sense,  the  admired  of  all  admirers  ;  the  other 
girt  about  with  gray  and  barren  hills,  hedged  by  stern  and  solemn  walls, 
with  no  beauty,  no  attraction,  hardly  even  the  ordinary  comforts  of  life  to 
offer  to  the  weary  pilgrim  ;  and  yet  drawing  him  to  her  withered  bosom  with 
a  spell  to  which  he  gladly  yields,  and  melting  liis  heart  with  a  love,  pity  and 
hope  that  take  fast  hold  upon  the  dearest  ties,  that  reach  backward  through 
all  ages  and  forward  to  the  consummation  of  creation’s  mystery. 

But  the  wiry  little  luncheon  bell  disturbs  my  reverie.  We  repair  to  the 
tent  of  the  banner,  in  which  Dr.  March  &  Co.  have  lodgings,  and  find 
cold  beef,  cold  chicken,  bread,  nuts,  dates  and  oranges  awaiting  us,  from 
which,  thanks  to  our  keen  appetites,  we  make  a  hearty  repast.  Thus  far  we 
like  tent-life,  seeing  nothing  to  dread,  save  the  mosquitoes  which  have  set 
their  crimson  seal  on  the  foreheads  of  our  hardy  comrades,  and  against 
whose  attacks  we  have  been  trying  to  provide  by  rigging  out  a  net  apiece, 
made  of  our  veils  with  our  Garden-of-Gethsemane  whips  bent  across  them. 

I11  the  afternoon  we  went  to  Bethany.  Here  lived  Jesus’  friends  and 
here  his  nature  showed  its  most  human  side  ;  here  affection  won  from  him 
the  tears  that  torture  could  not  force  ;  here  he  performed  his  crowning  mira 
cle ;  somewhere  hereabouts  from  the  side  of  Olivet  he  passed  through  the 
pure  air  that  fans  my  cheek  into  the  blue  above  us.  All  that  our  hearts  most 
dearly  cherish  in  the  crisis  hours  of  life  centers  in  this  ascent  of  Jesus  from 
some  spot  beneath  our  gaze,  as  it  wanders  over  the  low  and  lonesome  hill 
that  stands  out  in  the  history  of  our  race,  more  lofty  in  its  meanings,  more 
heavenly  in  its  hopes  than  all  the  summits  of  the  earth.  For  “  if  Christ  be 
not  risen,  then  is  our  preaching  vain,  and  your  faith  is  also  vain.” 

They  showed  us  Lazarus’  tomb  :  a  deep,  disagreeable  excavation  by  the 
roadside,  suspiciously  convenient  to  “the  house  of  Mary  and  Martha,” 
and  not  a  stone’s  throw  from  that  of  “Simon  the  leper.”  We  crawled 
dutifully  into  the  cave  and  mounted  a  housetop  to  look  down  upon  the 
ruins,  but  should  have  been  puzzled  to  reply  had  anybody  asked  why  we 
did  so,  why  we  paid  the  tribute  of  a  thought  to  these  barefaced  impostures, 
when  around  us  were  the  faithful  face  of  nature,  the  changeless  outlines  of 
the  hills,  the  unvarying  rocks,  all  of  which  Jesus  had  seen,  and  these  alone. 
Doubtless,  our  unanalyzed  impulse  to  look  at  these  impostures,  was  a  certain 
kindly  sympathy  with  the  army  of  pilgrims  from  every  land,  who  have  hon¬ 
estly  venerated  these  shrines.  Well,  I  am  glad  that  since  “  I  am  human, 
whatever  touches  humanity  touches  me.”  We  lingered  long  upon  the  house¬ 
top,  while  the  village  sheik  stood  near  us,  watching  curiously  our  move¬ 
ments  and  listening  attentively  to  our  reading  of  the  chapter  about  how 
Tesus  came  from  beyond  Jordan,  up  yonder  rugged  path  before  us,  and 
Martha  went  to  meet  him,  and  his  potent  voice  called  her  brother  from  the 
grave — perhaps  one  of  the  very  holes  in  the  rock  before  us. 


2Q9 


Jesus  Walked  Here  Often . 

TO  THE  DEAD  SEA  AND  JERICHO. 

March  IS, — We  rise  at  about  six  o’clock  and  breakfast  out-of-doors  at 
seven.  This  morning  it  rained  upon  our  omelette,  toast  and  coffee.  The 
wind  was  chilly,  the  sky  a  leaden  gray,  and  matters  looked  a  little  dubious 
for  starting  on  the  grand  route,  “  doing”  the  Dead  Sea  and  the  Jordan,  and 
reaching  Jericho  to-night.  Mr.  Wilson,  Kate  and  I  made  it  our  first  busi¬ 
ness  to  ride  up  to  Jerusalem  in  the  rain  and  buy  ourselves  rubber  coats,  a 
precaution  we  had  stupidly  neglected  up  to  this  time.  Not  until  nine  o’clock 
did  our  long  line  get  in  motion,  led  off  by  a  couple  of  formidable-looking 
Arabs  who,  for  a  consideration,  acted  as  our  escort. 

It  really  takes  a  good  deal  of  “  impedimenta  ”  to  start  a  baker’s  dozen 
of  tourists  over  these  break-neck  hills,  paradoxical  though  it  may  seem.  In 
and  out,  up  and  down,  around  and  over  we  wind  by  the  worst  road  that  ever 
outraged  that  respectable  name.  And  what  has  set  us  all  to  wriggling  thus 
among  these  barren  hills  ?  Why,  one  called  Jesus  walked  here  often,  in  olden 
times,  and  with  him  went  twelve  others,  whose  humble  names  have  gained  a 
luster  brighter  than  those  of  kings  and  have  gone  into  all  the  world.  After 
the  fall  from  my  horse  I  thought  perhaps  the  feet  of  Christ  might  have 
pressed  the  very  stones  that  bruised  me ;  could  I  but  know  it,  how  I  should 
prize  the  wound  !  We  lunched  beside  an  old  wall  inclosing  the  summit  of 
the  “  Pisgah  ”  of  the  Mohammedans,  the  only  trouble  with  which  is,  that  it 
ought  to  be  the  other  side  of  Jordan  ;  but  one  must  not  be  exigent. 

To  pass  rapidly  through  this  wilderness  is  nothing,  but  to  live  here 
would  be  simply  impossible,  for  no  green  thing  is  seen  for  miles,  unless 
sometimes  in  the  valleys  the  gray,  weird-looking  shrub  made  for  the 
camel’s  nourishment  and  found  in  the  great  deserts.  But  the  hills  have 
such  variety  of  form,  are  so  harmoniously  rounded,  circle  around  each  other 
in  dance  so  intricate,  display  such  curious  lines  of  stratification,  and  abound 
in  such  tempting  pebbles,  that,  flecked  by  the  bright  sunshine  that  the 
newly  swept  and  garnished  skies  have  yielded,  their  white  and  yellow  colors 
light  up  cheerfully,  and  the  scene  is  far  more  pleasant  than  travelers  teach 
us  to  expect.  And  as  for  the  desolation  of  the  Dead  Sea,  I  surely  was  unable 
to  discover  it.  A  more  beautiful  sheet  of  water  I  have  rarely  seen,  blue  as  a 
mountain  lake,  its  distant  promontories  standing  out  grandly  and  mellowed 
with  a  light  that  Claude  need  not  have  disdained,  while  to-day  the  effects  of 
cloud  and  the  hue  of  the  sky  were  magnificent  enough  to  be  memorable. 
I  certainly  never  saw  a  more  splendid  display  in  the  heavens,  and  even  as 
we  bent  over  the  smooth  and  glassy  water  a  rainbow  in  the  east  gave  the  last 
touch  to  a  picture  that  we  all  thought  marvelous.  Neither  is  the  approach 
to  the  Dead  Sea  desolate  ;  there  was  far  more  vegetation  than  we  had  looked 
for — tall,  rank  cane,  juniper,  tamarisk,  and  a  few  flowers.  Some  apples  of 
Sodom,  at  least  our  knowing  ones  pronounce  them  such,  were  gathered  here 
(also  at  the  Jordan  and  Jericho),  but  they  are  a  pretty,  yellow  fruit,  and  on 
the  same  twig  with  them  grows  a  purple  flower  which  is  in  appearance,  com¬ 
pared  to  that  of  the  potato,  what  a  race  horse  is  to  a  mule.  (I  become, 
naturally  enough,  equestrian  in  my  comparisons  !)  But  the  water  of  the 


300 


Sabbath  at  Bethel. 


Dead  Sea  is  worthy  of  its  reputation.  I  tasted  it  slightly  when  filling  the 
little  can  we  are  going  to  take  home.  It  is  unbearable  to  the  tongue,  but  the 
feeling  of  it  is  smooth,  almost  slippery,  and  the  gentlemen  who  took  the 
bath,  self- prescribed  here  to  all  tourists,  report  it  as  buoyant  even  beyond 
their  expectations  and  almost  blistering  to  lips  and  eyelids.  Master  El 
Hani  (up  the  Nile  we  had  an  English,  here  an  Arab  commander-in-chief), 
told  us  we  had  “just  ten  minutes  ”  to  spend  at  the  Dead  Sea.  What  with 
scolding  and  display  of  temper  I  managed  to  get  twenty,  and  the  gentlemen, 
some  of  them,  a  little  longer  ;  but  the  train  departed,  leaving  many  loiterers, 
long  before  half  an  hour  was  passed.  Pleasant,  is  n’t  it,  to  come  seven  or 
eight  thousand  miles  to  a  renowned  spot  and  be  told  by  a  wild  ignoramus 
that  he  allots  you  ten  minutes  in  which  to  make  observations  ?  Well,  well, 
some  people  don’t  even  have  ten. 

March  21.— Far  off,  Gerizim  and  Ebal  loom,  and  here  is  Jacob’s  well. 
There  the  pleasant  fields  on  which  Christ  looked,  when  He  said,  Behold  the 
fields  are  white  and  ready  for  the  harvest !  I  have  hardly  seen  a  landscape 
more  suggestive  of  sweet  and  hopeful  thoughts,  and  certainly,  go  where  we 
may,  we  can  never  be  so  certain  as  here  that  we  have  found  our  Saviour’s 
footsteps,  that  we  are  actually  in  the  same  place  where  he  once  was.  Only 
those  who  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  prove  it  can  know  what  life,  what 
vividness,  must  ever  invest  that  beautiful  fourth  chapter  of  John  when  it 
has  been  read  beside  this  well,  with  Gerizim  on  the  right  hand,  Ebal  on  the 
left,  Joseph’s  tomb  a  little  distance  off  and  the  fields  stretching  away  on 
every  side.  Horseback-riding  is  fatiguing  work  sometimes,  living  in  tents 
is  not  the  method  of  existence  one  would  choose,  but  a  single  experience 
like  that  I  have  described  repays  a  thoughtful  traveler  for  more  of  hardship 
than  he  would  have  believed  himself  capable  of  enduring,  until  the  spell 
of  such  a  land  as  this  was  laid  upon  him. 

That  night  we  sat  at  table  d'  hote  as  usual  an  hour  and  a  half,  there 
being  time  for  a  nap  between  each  of  the  courses,  only  the  opportunities 
were  small  as  we  were  perched  on  camp  stools  all  on  a  slant  and  leaned  our 
elbows  on  the  table  to  maintain  our  equilibrium.  And  in  the  night  how  the 
rain  poured,  the  lightning  flashed,  the  thunder  roared  with  short  explosions 
among  these  sacred  hills  ;  yet  so  weary  were  we  all  that  we  slept  very 
soundly,  rising  a  little  after  five,  in  hopes  to  get  off  to  Mt.  Gerizim  after  an 
early  breakfast.  Not  so  however  was  it  written  in  the  almanac.  The  rain 
poured,  the  wind  blew,  and  thick  clouds  shut  down  over  our  heads.  But  we 
bravely  prepared  for  a  day’s  ride  ;  “  the  ladies  ”  each  fastening  her  big  hat 
on  her  back  and  drawing  over  it  her  rubber  coat,  fastening  the  hood  tightly 
under  her  chin  until  she  looked  like  an  Esquimaux,  buttoning  on  her  riding- 
gloves  with  whip  attached  to  one  of  them  ;  taking  her  bag  of  books  intended 
to  swing  from  the  pommel  and  containing  the  Bible,  Murray,  and  a  book  for 
flowers,  and  a  pincushion  in  case  of  anything  “giving  out.”  The  tents 
were  knocked  down  over  our  heads  and  we  stood  out  in  as  “  big  a  drip  ”  as 
ever  poured  its  wet  sheets  upon  defenseless  travelers.  It  was  very  amusing 
to  look  around  and  see  thirteen  drenched,  but  cheerful  mortals  looking  out 
from  under  their  umbrellas  and  longing  for  a  better  time.  I  was  especially 


A  Visit  to  Damascus. 


301 


struck  by  the  mild,  smiling  countenance  of  Bishop  Kingsley,  shining  like 
a  full  moon  from  under  his  wet  and  shapeless  sombrero.  But  the  dragoman 
decreed  that  the  weather  was  too  bad,  we  could  not  move  to-day,  so  we 
mounted  our  horses  and  rode  slipping  along  over  the  mud  and  through  a 
roaring  torrent  to  the  town  where,  at  the  present  writing,  we  are  toasting  our 
feet  around  a  brasier  of  charcoal  in  a  great,  dirty,  nondescript  room  of  an 
Arab  hotel ;  some  reading  their  Bibles,  others  their  Murray,  others  asking 
hard  questions  in  history  and  chronology  pertaining  to  our  whereabouts, 
others  still  cracking  dry  jokes,  and  some  curious  scribblers  sketching  this 
room  where  we  have  taken  refuge. 

April  6,  1870.— So  I  am  in  Damascus — city  of  so  many  vague  and  pleas¬ 
ant  fancies— even  I ! 

We  clatter  along  the  muddy,  wretchedly  paved  streets,  where  walk  the 
same  parti-colored  processions  of  barbarians  that  trail  their  soiled,  but  brill¬ 
iant  garments  through  all  the  highways  and  byways  of  the  East.  We  pass 
under  the  gigantic  palm  tree,  down  in  all  guide-books  as  one  of  the  marvels 
of  Damascus.  Grand  and  brave  it  looks,  the  sunshine  sifting  through  its 
million  leaves  and  the  mild  breeze  singing  a  hymn  away  up  in  its  branches. 
What  a  lesson  it  has  preached  here,  quite  unheeded,  during  all  the  centuries 
of  its  noble  growth  ;  rising  from  these  dirty  streets  and  dingy  dwellings  into 
purer  air  and  sunny  skies,  without  a  spot  upon  its  emerald  garments  or  a 
distortion  among  its  vigorous  branches.  In  a  sense  this  palm  tree  pleases 
me  better  than  anything  else  in  all  Damascus. 

We  clatter  on  at  the  discretion  of  our  guide. 

A  slave  market,  the  first  and  only  one  we  ever  saw,  is  among  the 
“sights  ”  he  sees  fit  to  place  before  us.  Through  several  courts,  up  shaking 
stairs  and  into  miserable  little  dens  we  are  conducted  with  much  discomfort 
and  outrage  upon  our  olfactories.  Here  are  several  miserable  negro 
women,  tattered  boys,  and  one  pretty  Circassian  girl  waiting  to  be  sold. 
They  hold  out  their  hands  for  alms.  Some  are  in  bed,  sick  in  body  or  in 
heart.  It  is  a  sad  sight  to  behold,  in  some  regards  the  saddest  upon  which 
I  ever  gazed. 

The  great  Mosque  is  of  interest  from  its  history,  though  I  see  little 
there  except  its  vastness,  which  attracts  me.  This  Mohammedan  religion 
is  by  no  means  the  harmonious  affair  one  ignorantly  supposes,  but  has  its 
divisions  and  its  rancors,  all  the  more  fierce  from  the  fanatical  stupidity  of 
its  adherents*  We  climb  one  of  the  minarets — that  of  “The  Son  of  Mary,” 
and  get  the  ripest  fruit  of  a  journey  to  Damascus — namely,  a  view  of  the 
city  itself.  There  it  is,  the  emerald  in  its  setting  of  gold,  which  poets  have 
sung  of,  artists  painted,  and  tourists  spent  pages  of  verbiage  upon  ;  one  of 
the  strangest,  choicest  sights  of  our  beautiful  earth,  one  to  drink  in  with  the 
eyes,  one  to  cherish  in  the  memory,  one  that  Moore  might  have  described  in 
Lalla  Rookh,  or  Warburton  in  his  best  mood  might  have  presumed  to  touch, 
but  which  should  have  the  tribute  of  silence  from  such  pens  as  mine.  The 
hill  whence  Mahomet  first  beheld  it  is  thickly  covered  with  snow,  so  we 
can  not  climb  it  as  wre  have  so  much  desired  to  do,  as  I  have  a  thousand  times 
dreamed  of  doing,  even  in  Wisconsin  groves  and  upon  Illinois  prairies. 


302 


Sight- seeing. 


Through  dark,  crowded  streets  we  go  to  the  “  goldsmiths’  hall”  of 
Damascus,  where  hundreds  of  workmen,  seated  tailor  fashion  on  theil 
tables,  are  hammering  away  at  all  imaginable  kinds  of  jewelry,  and  where 
from  rude  cases  gleam  pearls,  rubies  and  diamonds  of  incalculable  price, 
from  earliest  ages  the  heritage  of  the  splendid  Orient.  But  we  hasten 
through  this  golden  bedlam  and  emerging  upon  its  roof  come  upon  what  we 
are  seeking — the  old,  walled-up  door  that  led  to  the  Mosque  we  have  just 
visited,  when  it  was  a  Christian  church,  and  where  wre  read,  or  might  if  we 
knew  Greek,  an  inscription  placed  here  twelve  hundred  years  ago,  “Thy 
kingdom,  O  Christ,  is  an  everlasting  kingdom,  and  Thy  word  endureth  to  all 
generations  !”  There  is  almost  the  inspiration  of  prophecy  in  these  words, 
and  no  one  whose  early  and  most  innocent  hopes  Christianity  has  cherished, 
can  look  upon  it  without  emotion.  I  stoop  to  gather  a  leaf  that  is  grow- 
ing  from  a  crevice  of  this  sculptured  doorway. 

The  uninviting  exterior  of  Oriental  houses  is  proverbial,  but  those  of 
Damascus  are  so  much  uglier  than  any  other  city  of  the  East  can  show,  that 
it  would  seem  as  if  the  fashion  started  here  and  its  imitators  had  fallen  as 
far  behind  their  model,  as  is  the  fate  of  imitators  generally.  Our  donkeys 
pick  their  way  along  a  street  outrageous  in  its  filth,  and  so  dark  and  narrow 
that  it  reminds  us  of  the  entrance  to  the  pyramids,  and  stop  before  a  small 
door  let  into  a  wall  twenty  feet  high.  A  vigorous  application  of  our  whips 
to  the  same,  unearths  a  withered-up  old  servant  who  flings  wide  the  bird-cage 
portal,  and  bending  nearly  double  we  stumble  into  the  finest  of  Damascus 
houses  ;  into  the  place  which  brings  us  nearest  to  the  dear,  impossible,  story¬ 
book  wTorld,  and  banishes  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  that  matter-of-fact  old 
world,  where  wre  have  lived  so  long,  to  the  greatest  distance  to  which  it  has 
ever  yet  been  banished  from  our  eyes.  The  transformations  of  the  stage  are 
nothing  to  it ;  the  charm  of  Lalla  Rookh’s  enticing  pages  can  not  go  beyond  ; 
nay,  rather,  can  not  approach  this  scene.  Look  !  As  we  pass  from  the  entrance 
court  to  a  second  in  the  middle  of  the  house,  where  fountains  sparkle  and  the 
native  Damascus  roses  bloom,  a  lady  from  an  upper  window  salutes  us  w'ith 
graceful  courtesy,  regards  us  for  several  minutes,  no  gentleman  being  of  our 
party,  and  retires.  She  looks  worthy  of  her  surroundings,  indeed,  is  just  the 
human  creature  to  lend  a  harmonious  charm  to  all  the  beauty  lavished  here, 
where  every  sense  is  pleased.  The  very  sight  of  her  makes  us  commonplace 
Europeans  ill  at  ease  ;  our  thoughtful  faces  and  travel-worn  garments  have 
no  rightful  place  in  this  exotic  dream.  We  feel  relieved  when  that  fair  face 
withdraws  from  sight  and  yet  our  foolish  thoughts  go  with  it  wondering,  and 
envious  for  one  impulsive  moment  of  the  strange,  glowing  life  one  here 
might  lead  amid  so  much  embodied  poesy.  We  wander  through  the  cool 
and  shady  rooms  that  open  on  the  central  court  where  orange  trees  in  marble 
basins  sift  the  sunshine  that  the  sweet-voiced  fountains  cool.  We  enter  by 
windows  wide  open  as  doors  and  on  a  level  with  the  court-yard’s  marble 
floor.  An  ample  space,  also  marble-covered  and  with  a  fountain  in  its  midst, 
marks  the  limit  beyond  which  shodden  feet  can  not  be  allowed  to  trespass. 
Before  stepping  to  the  higher  level  where  Turkish  carpets  indicate  the 
sanctum  sanctorum  of  the  apartment,  slippers  must  be  put  on  or  shoes  put 


A  Glimpse  of  Greece. 


303 


off.  Velvet  furniture  of  graceful,  airy  shape  adorns  the  principal  salon. 
Bright  colors  greet  the  eye  wherever  it  may  rest,  from  silver  lamps  to 
tapestried  doorway,  and  large  mirrors  of  surprising  frequency  repeat  the 
rich  hues  that  fall  through  windows  of  stained  glass.  In  an  alcove  of  the 
parlor  are  the  delicate  coffee,  and  wine  cups  with  curious  holders,  peculiar 
to  the  East.  In  one  great  room  are  thirty  or  more  windows,  but  all  high 
above  the  loftiest  head ;  no  sound  or  suggestion  of  the  outer  world  can 
penetrate  this  beautiful  retreat.  It  is  a  place  apart,  a  paradise  unforfeited. 
The  only  thing  I  saw  there  which  reminded  me  of  the  world  from  which  I 
came  and  to  which  I  must  so  soon  and  so  inevitably  return,  was  a  plate  of 
visitors’  cards  from  all  parts  of  Europe,  showing  that  the  charm  of  this 
strange  spot  has  seized  upon  a  thousand  tranquil  imaginations  from  the 
cooler  zones.  I  am  quite  sure  that  when  in  my  dear,  quiet  home  in  Evan¬ 
ston  I  shut  my  eyes  to  summon  the  most  glowing  picture  that  my  fancy 
can  afford,  the  least  like  what  is  around  me  there,  the  least,  indeed,  like 
what  my  notions  of  our  old  world  would  lead  me  to  expect  it  could  contain, 

I  shall  see  a  sunny  bit  of  sky  above  an  odorous  garden  walled  in  by  the 
brightly  colored  interior  walls  and  made  musical  by  the  clear  fountains  of  a 
Damascus  home. 

Athens,  April  18,  1870. — It  is  very  much  of  a  moment  in  one’s  life,  I 
hold,  w7hen  he  looks  first  upon  the  birthplace  of  the  arts,  the  capital  of 
earth’s  most  heroic  land — even  though  its  glory  is  departed  and  its  children 
are  enslaved. 

And  so  it  happened  that  when  those  stout-armed,  swarthy-faced  Greek 
boatmen  took  us  in  charge,  tumbled  us  like  so  much  merchandise  into  their 
little  boats  and  rushed  us  off  to  the  shore,  I  saw,  instead  of  them,  a  blue¬ 
eyed,  fair-haired  race,  the  same  to  whom  were  given  those  visions  of  Minerva 
and  of  Venus  which  a  colder  age  crystallized  into  religion  ;  and  before  me  • 
on  those  azure  waves  loomed  the  fleet  of  Xerxes  driven  by  Themistocles 
and  his  helmeted  warriors  away  from  the  paradise  they  had  menaced. 

A  pleasant  carriage  ride  along  the  line  of  wall  built  by  the  prudent 
Athenians  to  afford  a  sheltered  passage  from  their  city  to  their  port,  and  we 
enter  the  city  which  has  succeeded  to  that  of  ancient  times.  It  is  a  fresh, 
cheerful  looking  place,  altogether  European,  even  American  in  seeming,  to 
our  Asiatic  eyes !  The  streets  are  clean,  shops  large,  windows  bright  and 
clear,  pavements  and  sidewalks  smooth  and  well  arranged.  Our  hotel 
seems  like  a  palace,  and  I  don’t  wonder  that  a  dozen  different  travelers  have 
extolled  its  merits  in  the  guide-book,  if  all  came  hither  from  the  East  as 
we  do.  What  rooms  we  have,  covered  with  rich  carpets,  and  planted  out 
to  huge  easy-chairs  and  pretty  escritoires,  with  clean  beds  covered  by  a 
scarlet  blanket  apiece.  Engravings  of  Kings  George  and  Otho  are  on  the 
walls,  and  out  of  the  windows  views  of  the  Acropolis  !  What  a  dining 
saloon  is  this,  and  what  a  breakfast  they  give  us — crisp  cutlets,  fresh  eggs, 
fresh  rolls  and  coffee,  and  honey  from  Mt.  Hymettus  ! 

The  creature  comforts  duly  attended  to — and  who  forgets  them  ?  even 
long-haired  artists,  and  starry-eyed  poets  confessing  their  indolent  sway — 
we  engage  “Philosopher  ”  as  our  guide,  a  plump  man  of  middle  age,  dull 


304 


From  Hisses  to  Applause. 


as  his  own  eyes  and  good  natured  as  he  is  well  fed.  By  his  exertions  a 
nice  carriage,  and  driver  in  short  white  petticoats,  a  la  Greek,  are  speedily  in 
readiness,  and  obedient  to  the  order,  “To  the  Acropolis  we  drive  off  in  high 
spirits  to  the  goal  of  our  long  voyage.  We  wind  around  the  base  of  this 
famous  hill,  which  has  several  much  higher  and  fully  as  steep  in  its  vicinity, 
and  passing  through  three  comparatively  modern  gates  enter  the  Propylaeum, 
pass  its  beautiful,  though  ruined  portal,  climb  the  bare  rock,  where  the 
brilliant  processions  of  the  Golden  Age  were  wont  to  pass,  and  take  up  our 
position  before  the  Parthenon.  Gray  and  broken  as  is  this  ruin  it  is  yet 
among  the  most  impressive  I  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  behold.  So 
simple,  almost  austere,  in  its  beauty  ;  so  satisfying  in  its  proportions  ;  so 
nobly  dignified  in  its  tout  ensemble — one  feels  a  reverence  for  the  Parthenon, 
not  exceeded  by  that  inspired  by  any  other  fane  that  reverent  hands  have 
reared  to  any  deity.  Three  or  four  hours  of  scrutiny,  as  honest  and  as  earn¬ 
est  as  we  could  bestow,  gave  us  somewhat  of  a  home  feeling  in  this  temple. 

We  studied  the  Propylaeum,  the  Temple  of  Victory,  the  Parthenon  and 
Erechtheum  and  found  where  the  old  altars  had  stood,  the  glittering 
statues  on  their  sculptured  pedestals,  and  followed  the  road  by  which  the 
splendid  processions  used  to  wind  up  the  steep  rock  in  the  Age  of  Pericles. 

PARIS  AND  THE  FRANCO-PRUSSIAN  WAR. 

We  returned  to  Paris  after  another  visit  in  England  and  re¬ 
mained  until  the  investiture  of  the  French  capital  by  Germany 
became  imminent.  Our  sympathies  were  with  King  William  and 
“  Unser  Fritz,”  Bismarck,  Von  Moltke  and  the  “Red  Prince,” 
but  to  say  this  would  have  been  treason,  and  we  maintained  that 
“  guarded  silence  ”  in  which  diplomatists  rejoice  and  honest  peo¬ 
ple  grow  impatient.  The  results  of  the  struggle  form  a  part  of 
history’s  record  to-day.  But  we  who  watched  its  beginnings 
from  within  were  not  surprised  at  the  sequence. 

August  12,  1870. — Even  so  soon,  the  outmost  ripple  of  the  widening  war- 
wave  has^  reached  me  in  my  quiet  life  and  quietest  of  Paris  homes.  This 
morning  the  cream  cheese  wThich  helps  out  my  slender  breakfast  failed, 
because  the  man  who  was  w^ont  to  bring  it  was  conscripted  and  has  gone  to 
the  frontier.  The  garrulous  old  custodian  who  conducted  us  this  afternoon 
to  the  Arc  de  Triomphe,  said  that  most  of  the  trees  in  the  park  were  to  be 
cut  dowm  in  the  progress  of  the  home  defenses.  We  saw  hundreds  of  men 
working  on  the  fortifications  which  are  soon  to  shut  off  communication  with 
the  outer  world. 

Thiers  spoke  in  the  Corps  Edgislatif  to-day,  for  the  first  time  since 
three  weeks  ago,  wrhen  he  was  hissed  and  howled  at  and  silenced,  and  hi9 
house  stoned  a  while  later  by  the  populace,  because  his  voice  was  not  for 
war.  To-day  he  was  applauded.  To-day  Marshal  Lebceuf,  then  Minister 
of  War,  head  of  the  army,  the  nation’s  hope,  the  most  eager  of  them  all  in 


The  French  Army  in  Retreat. 


305 


his  shrieks  for  combat,  has  handed  in  his  resignation.  What  a  people  is  this, 
and  how  short-lived  the  glory  so  dear  to  all  who  love  the  name  of  France  ! 

News  on  the  bulletin  posted  up  at  the  mayor’s  :  “  The  Prussians  have 
surrounded  Strasbourg.  The  French  are  retreating  in  good  order.  But  her 
soldiers  performed  prodigies  of  valor  in  the  recent  engagement.” 

As  Thiers  said,  “  All  the  failure  is  due  to  the  incapacity  of  their  chiefs.” 
To  which  Picard  replies,  “An  incapacity  that  has  lasted  twenty  years.” 
Many  think,  and  all  who  have  not  loaves  and  fishes  to  lose  by  it,  hope 
that  the  second  Empire  is  in  its  dying  hour.  It  looks  ominous— the  num¬ 
ber  of  men  working  on  the  fortifications  and  the  number  of  places  where 
the  grass  has  been  cut  away  to  make  space  for  the  cannon,  of  which  six 
hundred  will  very  soon  be  mounted. 

Pere  Hyacinthe  publishes  his  determination  to  work  on  the  fortifica¬ 
tions,  since  he  thinks  a  priest  should  only  fight  in  extreme  cases.  He  will 
take  his  spade  to-morrow  after  mass. 

All  other  considerations  are  evidently  overshadowed  when  the  gay  Paris¬ 
ians  reflect  that  the  whole  French  army  is  in  retreat,  closely  followed  by  ‘  ‘  the 
German  brutes,”  as  polite  France  does  not  hesitate  to  call  the  challenged 
invaders  of  her  soil.  *  Great,  but  quiet  crowds  stand  waiting  upon  the  boule¬ 
vards  and  in  the  street  of  the  newspaper  offices.  The  varying  aspects  of  Paris 
are  like  those  of  a  handsome  woman’s  face  swayed  by  contending  passions. 

News  of  two  indecisive  French  victories  are  reported  by  Marshal 
Bazaine,  with  the  words,  “  Our  losses  have  been  great.”  The  people  seem 
as  disconsolate  as  ever,  for  who  does  not  know  that  if  real  success  should 
crown  the  French  armies,  the  streets  would  bloom  with  flags  and  the  air  be 
rent  with  the  noise  of  minute-guns  ?  This  state  of  things  can  not  endure 
much  longer.  , 

A  lengthy  placard  posted  on  the  columns  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  and  on 
all  available  spots  along  the  boulevards,  announces  that  “  General  Trochu  is 
governor  of  Paris  in  the  peril  of  the  nation,  and  that  his  motto  is,  ‘I  am  for 
the  country,  with  the  help  of  God.’  ”  Everybody  feels  relieved,  because  he 
is  a  very  able  man  and  much  beloved. 

We  have  another  batch  of  London  papers,  and  the  news  we  gather  is 
altogether  different  from  what  the  Paris  papers  give  us. 

Let  me  here  set  down  one  corollary  on  my  European  study  of  the  Sab¬ 
bath  problem.  Even  if  the  observance  of  one  day  in  seven  by  cessation  from 
ordinary  pursuits,  particular  observance  of  divine  worship,  and  thoughts  of 
destiny  and  duty,  be  not  required  of  us  by  our  Creator,  it  is  at  least  proved 
to  be  for  our  highest  good  and  best  development,  first,  by  comparing  nations 
where  such  observances  are  habitual  with  those  where  they  are  not ;  and 
second,  in  individual  experience,  by  instituting  a  similar  parallel  between 
the  periods  when  we  have  and  when  we  have  not  regarded  the  injunctions 
of  the  fourth  commandment.  I  look  hopefully  toward  the  better  country 
of  America  and  the  better  life  that  it  is  easy  there  to  lead.  For  me  and  for 
my  work  in  life  it  is  a  happy  thing  that  I  am  going  home.  I  would  that  I 
had  the  ambition  of  goodness  even  as  strongly  as  I  have  the  ambition  of 
knowledge ! 


20 


3°6 


Total  Abstainers  Abroad. 


Three  things  I  did,  once  in  awhile,  during  my  two  years  and 
four  months  of  foreign  travel,  that  I  never  did  and  never  do  at 
home.  I  went  to  see  sights  on  Sunday,  went  to  the  theater,  and 
took  wine  at  dinner.  I  reflect  upon  these  facts  with  undisguised 
regret,  but  will  frankly  mention  how  this  apostasy  occurred. 
Never  having  been  inside  of  a  theater  but  once  in  America, 
and  that  on  my  first  visit  to  New  York  City,  in  1863,  I  went  a 
few  times  in  Condon,  Paris,  Berlin,  and  once  in  Moscow — perhaps 
half  a  dozen  times  in  all.  The  universal  judgment  of  tourists 
is  that  one’s  impression  of  the  class  that  has  best  opportunity 
of  culture  is  best  gained  by  one’s  observations  at  the  play,  and 
their  native  language  is  spoken  with  greater  purity  by  actors, 
perhaps,  than  by  any  other  class. 

There  are  some  important  sights  in  Paris  never  to  be  seen 
except  on  Sunday,  so  we  went  a  few  times,  probably  not  half  a 
dozen,  in  the  nine  months  of  our  residence  there. 

Having  been  reared  a  total  abstainer,  the  thought  never  oc¬ 
curred  to.me  to  take  wine  until  my  violent  illness  in  Copenhagen, 
when  a  kind-faced  physician  bent  over  me  and  told  me  in  French 
that  if  I  ever  expected  to  see  my  home  again,  I  must  avoid  drink¬ 
ing  water  as  we  journeyed  from  one  country  to  another,  that  being 
the  most  fruitful  source  of  disease  among  travelers.  The  subject 
had  not  then  been  studied  as  it  has  been  since,  and  I  was  more 
reverent  towards  physicians  than  I  am  now,  so  these  words  came 
to  me  as  law  and  gospel.  From  that  time  on  I  thought  it  right 
to  mix  a  little  wine  with  the  water  at  dinner,  taking  tea  and  coffee 
at  the  other  meals.  Kate  also  carried  a  bottle  of  wine  with  which 
to  moisten  our  box  of  Albert  biscuit,  which  was  a  requisite  on  our 
long  car  rides.  Coming  home,  the  custom  was  at  once  abandoned 
by  us  both  and  not  renewed  by  her  in  her  many  years  of  foreign 
travel  since,  nor  by  me  save  as  herein  confessed. 

At  the  International  breakfast  in  Philadelphia,  which  was  a 
part  of  the  Centennial  celebration  by  temperance  people  in  1876, 
I  heard  testimonies  from  travelers  who  had  circumnavigated  the 
globe  many  times,  to  the  effect  that  they  never  drank  wine.  I 
know  it  is  the  testimony  of  all  of  our  Methodist  Bishops,  and  their 
duties  take  them  to  every  clime,  and  my  honored  friends,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Joseph  Cook,  of  Boston,  tell  me  that  they  found  a  bottle  of 
thoroughly  boiled  water  to  be  a  perfectly  safe  and  satisfactory  sub- 


Cure  foj '  Sea-sickness . 


307 


stitute  for  wine  in  all  their  world-wide  travels,  so  that  were  I  now 
to  set  out  for  a  voyage  around  the  world,  as  I  suspect  I  shall  some 
day,  I  should  have  no  anxiety  in  my  character  of  total  abstainer. 
I  firmly  believe  that  had  I  never  tasted  wine  while  on  the  other 
side  of  the  water,  and  had  I  scrupulously  followed  the  American 
customs  in  my  Sabbath  observances,  it  would  have  been  much 
better  for  me  every  way. 

August  14. — I  went  to  the  Louvre  to  see  my  favorite  among  Veuuses, 
that  of  Milo,  for  a  leave-taking.  In  the  long,  dim  perspective,  she  gleamed 
like  a  divinity.  She  has  a  soul,  a  brain,  a  heart,  which  one  can  not  say  of 
the  Medici  and  hardly  of  the  Capitoline,  or  of  the  Diana  of  Versailles  and 
her  antiquarian  companions.  The  gallery  of  modern  sculpture,  including 
Canova’s  Cupids  and  Psyches,  and  many  other  chefs  d’ceuvre  were  our  last 
sights  in  the  Louvre,  most  artistic  of  all  galleries  and  the  one  that  more  than 
any  other  contributes  to  the  culture  of  the  public  taste.  It  is  the  noblest 
thing  in  France,  worthy  of  what  is  highest  and  most  generous  in  the  great 
Latin  race.  How  it  has  pleased  and  taught  me  by  its  lessons  manifold  as  the 
panorama  of  evening  clouds,  and  free  as  the  air  from  Swiss  mountains.  To¬ 
day,  as  always,  when  I  have  been  there,  many  poor  workmen  in  their  blouses 
were  passing  through  this  gallery,  looking  delightedly  from  side  to  side, 
holding  their  caps  in  their  hands,  not  awkwardly,  but  with  a  certain  timid 
grace,  until  they  observed  that  gentlemen  wore  theirs,  wdien  they  replaced 
them  suddenly  and  commenced  staring  more  diligently  than  ever  at  the 
pictured  walls. 

August  23. — Our  adieus  to  our  dear  French  hostess  and  her  children 
were  indeed  hard  to  be  said.  We  felt  that  we  should  probably  never  see 
again  this  gracious  and  accomplished  woman  and  her  lovely  little  children, 
w7lio,  with  their  invariable  happy  heedlessness,  went  smiling  to  the  carriage 
door,  throwing  kisses  and  repeating  their  good-bys  without  cessation.  Dear 
Madame,  from  her  I  hastened  awray,  so  as  not  to  cry  outright.  She  has  a 
firm  and  loyal  friend  in  me,  and  I  am  sure  that  while  she  lives  I  shall  not 
lack  one  on  this  side  the  water,  nor  shall  I  lack,  while  she  has  a  roof  over 
her,  a  home,  where  I  am  as  welcome  as  anywhere  on  earth  save  in  the  little 
Gothic  cottage  on  the  sunset  shore  of  Lake  Michigan. 

September  5. — With  respect  to  sea-sickness,  I  would  offer  a  recipe  of  my 
own,  inasmuch  as  every  one  has  at  his  tongue’s  end  a  deliverance  of  this 
sort — I  mean  if  he  has  never  been  sea-sick.  My  recipe  is,  however,  an  ex¬ 
ception  to  the  rule,  for  I  am  never  anything  but  sea-sick  while  on  the  sea  ! 
Crossing  the  Mediterranean  is  perhaps  as  much  worse  than  crossing  the 
Atlantic  as  the  latter  is  wTorse  than  navigating  a  mill-pond.  But  on  both 
these  watery  highways,*  I  got  relief  by  just  one  method,  namely,  rolling  the 
pillow  into  a  cylinder  and  rolling  back  my  neck  over  that,  while  I  held  my 
arm  above  my  head  and  with  eyes  well  up  in  their  sockets  and  fixed  with 

♦Also  on  the  Pacific  Ocean  where  I  eked  out  a  miserable  existence  during  the  voyage 
from  San  Francisco  to  Astoria  at  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia  river. 


3°8 


Home  Again. 


desperate  clinch  upon  the  pages  of  an  interesting  book,  I  performed  my 
cure  and  defrauded  Old  Neptune  to  the,  at  least  intermittent,  quietude  of  my 
diaphragm.  I  thus  read  the  Life  of  Robertson,  and  his  sermons,  many  of 
the  best  novels  of  Bulwer,  and  choice  excerpts  from  Tauchnitz’s  Edition  of 
Great  Authors. 

September  6. — New  York  almost  in  sight,  silver  sails  all  out  in  the  west, 
silver  moon  in  the  clear  sky,  breakfast  in  the  American  fashion  ;  port-holes  all 
open  for  American  air.  We  fill  out  our  custom-house  affidavits,  pass  Sandy 
Hook,  the  Narrows,  the  forts,  the  shipping,  with  the  Star-spangled  Banner 
at  the  mast-head,  feel  choky  over  it,  vote  unanimously  that  there  is  no 
nobler  harbor  ;  see  the  German  flag  everywhere,  and  learn  amid  tremendous 
excitement  that  Napoleon  is  a  prisoner,  McMahon’s  army  has  capitulated 
and  France  is  a  Republic.  We  are  so  delighted  we  know  not  what  to  do 
or  say.  Our  friends,  the  German  Doctor  and  his  wife,  hop  up  and  down ! 

Wait  three  hours  for  our  baggage  to  be  taken  off,  enthusiasm  ebbs  to  a 
low  point ;  get  our  eight  trunks  and  packing  boxes  together  with  infinite 
pains.  A  gentleman  of  the  police  fraternity  takes  our  effects  in  hand,  asks 
me  solemnly,  “In  which  trunk  are  all  those  handsome  new  dresses  from 
Paris?’’  to  which  I  innocently  reply,  “In  this  big  black  one,  sir.”  Asks 
ine  if  we  have  any  piece  goods,  to  which  I  replied,  “  Oh,  yes,  enough  to 
make  our  dresses  over  when  they  get  out  of  style!”  He  smiles  wdsely. 
“  Have  you  worn  all  your  clothing?  ”  “Well,  yes,  that  is,  we  tried  it  all  on 
at  our  dressmakers’,  but  we  have  wTorn  it  very  little.”  He  sees  that  wTe  are 
so  tremendously  honest  that  he  does  n’t  look  into  a  single  trunk,  merely 
cuts  the  rope,  saying,  “You  understand  these  have  all  been  examined.  I 
do  this  for  you  as  a  personal  favor,  I  peril  my  position  by  so  doing,  but  you 
say  you  are  in  haste  to  take  a  train,  and  I  wish  to  annoy  you  as  little  as  pos¬ 
sible.”  Poor  fellow  !  It  were  more  than  human  charity  to  say  that  he  did 
not  look  for  a  fee,  but  at  least  he  did  not  get  any  from  two  such  upright  and 
patriotic  women  as  Kate  and  I,  for,  in  the  first  place,  we  were  “principled 
against  it,”  and  in  the  second  place,  our  finances  w’ere  at  such  a  point  of 
exhaustion,  that  only  my  ten-dollar  gold  piece,  that  I  had  wrhen  w’e  left  Amer¬ 
ica,  bought  for  fifteen  dollars  in  greenbacks  and  sold  at  a  premium  of  one 
dollar  at  the  New  York  railway  station,  saved  us  from  bankruptcy.  We 
talked  of  taking  a  carriage  from  the  wharf,  and  asked  the  price.  “  Five  dol¬ 
lars,”  said  tliehackman,  which  frightful  words  we  repeated  after  him  in  holy 
horror  and  wrath  and  toddled  off  to  take  the  street  cars,  meditating  on  the 
nice  Paris  cabs  that  would  have  carried  us  for  thirty  cents,  and  agreeing  that 
America  was  not  perfect,  but  then  it  was  America,  and  that  was  enough. 

And  now,  in  conclusion,  follow  my  rough  notes  made  like 
Captain  Cuttle’s,  “when  found”;  for  my  native  land,  which 
seemed  a  little  strange  at  first,  was  now  as  closely  scrutinized  as 
those  lands  had  been  whence  I  was  newly  come,  and  no  home¬ 
fondness  was  allowed  to  dim  my  glistening  spectacles  as  I  drew 
forth  pencil  and  paper  and  took  up  my  task. 


A  New  and  Nervous  Nation. 


309 


First.  Wooden  wharfs,  general  look  of  temporariness,  as  one  ap¬ 
proached  the  shore  ;  no  imposing  buildings  ;  droll  ferry  houses,  and  steamers 
that  look  as  “skating  bugs”  did  on  Rock  River  of  old;  cars  going  like 
wild-fire ;  unpaved  streets  full  of  weeds,  as  we  passed  through  the  villages 
going  out  to  the  home  of  Kate’s  genial  Aunt  Jane  in  New  Jersey  ;  cow¬ 
catcher  on  the  engine  ;  the  screaming  whistle  instead  of  the  mild,  cultured 
whistle  of  the  continent ;  an  ear-splitting  ding-donging  of  the  engine  bell ; 
“Lookout  For  the  Locomotive,”  at  every  turn.  In  Europe  no  railroad  or 
path,  or  passenger,  is  ever,  under  any  circumstances,  allowed  to  cross  a 
track.  “Coal,  brick,  lime,  cement,  mortar,”  these  are  signs  frequently  met 
with  and  of  proportions  that  indicate  a  thriving  business  and  a  new  country. 
We  have  stood  upon  Mt.  Calvary,  and  here  we  are  at  the  Morris  and  Essex 
depot ;  we  have  eaten  pomegranates  at  Damascus,  and  behold  us  with 
mouths  watering  for  prairie  melons.  “Fust  regular  stop’s  Milburn,  don’t 
pay  no  ’tention,  it’s  only  to  let  off  a  passenger.”  Spruce  conductor,  ring 
on  finger,  gold  chain,  well-kept  mustache,  not  a  man  adapted  to  climbing 
along  outside  of  car  from  one  door  to  another  after  the  manner  of  conduct¬ 
ors  on  the  other  side.  Raw,  stubby  fields,  smell  like  a  prairie  on  fire,  as  we 
cross  the  Jersey  marshes.  Polite  gentleman  changes  seats  wTith  us  because 
ours  is  a  back  one  ;  anticipates  our  raising  of  the  car  window  ;  an  employ^ 
conducts  us  to  the  car,  carries  our  baggage,  opens  door  and  seats  us  without 
charge  !  “  Pop-corn  for  sale.”  The  cars  are  like  a  meeting-house,  where  peo¬ 
ple  decorously  and  comfortably  face  one  way  instead  of  glaring,  at  each  other 
from  benches  opposite  all  the  weary  day  long.  Every  man,  well-dressed  and 
ill-dressed,  has  a  newspaper.  Cost  of  a  carriage,  five  dollars  !  Truckman 
with  trunks,  five  dollars  !  In  France,  all  that  for  five  francs  (one  dollar)  or 
less.  Railroad  salutation  between  two  men  of  bu  iness  ;  rough  shake  of 
the  hand,  “  Good-by,  give  my  respects  to  your  folks  “  Thankee,  I  will ;  ” 

1 

wooden  houses  everywhere,  glaring  white  ;  whole  forests  manufactured  into 
fences  glaring  white.  Amazing  gentility  of  custom-house  officers  and  street 
conductor ;  first  advertisement  that  we  saw  plastered  on  a  bowlder  by  the 
roadside,  “Watt’s  Nervous  Antidote.”  We  have  got  home  to  a  nervous 
nation.  Tremendous  play  bills,  with  huge  portraits,  caricatures,  etc.;  cir¬ 
cuses  predominating ;  newsboys  allowed  to  hop  on  the  street  and  other  cars 
with  papers,  without  being  taken  by  the  collar  and  jerked  off  by  a  police¬ 
man.  You  would  know  that  the  street-car  conductor  did  not  always  expect 
to  be  one,  by  the  very  style  of  his  making  change  for  your  tickets.  He  has 
the  air  of  a  man  holding  on  to  one  round  of  the  ladder  while  he  reaches  up 
to  grasp  the  next.  Street  barber’s  poles  instead  of  little  brass  basins,  concave 
on  one  edge.  Street-car  conductor  to  Kate,  “  Excuse  me,  but  have  n’t  you 
just  come  from  England  ?  you  said  station.” 

1 

All  this  was  twenty  years  ago  or  more,  when  we  were  less 
“English,  you  know,”  than  Henry  Irving,  daily  cable  dispatches, 
and  plenty  of  money  have  made  us  since.  But  we  are  true 
Americans  at  heart,  and  we  know  beyond  all  doubt  or  contra¬ 
diction,  ours  is  God’s  Country. 


3IQ 


Indian  Customs. 


CAR- WINDOW  JOTTINGS. 

,  NEW  MEXICO. 

Albuquerque,  nearly  as  ancient  in  its  origin  as  Santa  Fe,  is 
the  “  Wide-awake  ”  of  this  mercurial  continent.  We  were  there 
on  Good  Friday,  and  wagons  of  nondescript  appearance  thronged 
the  streets,  while  teams  were  in  the  corral,  and  men  lounged 
about  the  street  corners  and  saloons.  “  That’s  the  wTa3'  the  men 
go  to  church  here,”  dryly  remarked  a  friend.  “They  think 
they’ve  done  their  whole  duty  when  they  fetch  the  women  to 
mass.”  Sure  enough,  the  dingy  old  church  was  full  of  devout 
women,  prostrate  in  acknowledgment  of  sin,  wrhile  their  liege 
lords  w^ere  drinking  ardente  at  the  next  corner.  It  needed  no 
prophet  to  declare  the  doom  of  such  an  unequal  civilization. 
Whatever  makes  the  beliefs,  tastes,  habits  and  education  of  men 
and  women  more  congenial,  providing  always  that  we  must  level 
up  and  not  down,  will  most  rapidly  hasten  the  sway  of  happy 
homes  and  regenerated  hearts. 

The  Pueblo  Indians  have  a  very  simple  form  of  election, 
one  that  might,  with  propriety,  be  recommended  to  the  politi¬ 
cians  of  Gotham.  It  is  this  :  The  mayor  of  the  city  is  chosen 
once  a  year.  He  can  not  have  a  second  term.  On  the  morn¬ 
ing  of  election  day,  the  outgoing  mayor  nominates  two  can¬ 
didates  for  the  succession.  One  of  these  goes  to  one  end  of  the 
field,  the  other  takes  his  station  opposite.  Every  man  (why  not 
every  woman,  pray  tell  ?)  goes  to  the  candidate  of  his  choice  and 
literally  “  stands  up  for  him.”  Rapidly  the  lines  lengthen  on 
either  side.  The  old  men  of  the  tribe  count  the  number  in  each, 
and  thus  the  election  is  absolutely  without  fraud,  and,  best  of  all, 
they  can  dispense  with  caucuses.  The  Navajoes  a  tribe  of  16,000, 
trace  their  line  of  descent  wholly  along  the  mother’s  side,  and 


A  Peep  at  Arizona. 


3TI 

the  inheritance  of  property  is  from  mother  to  daughter,  so  that  a 
man  when  married  goes  to  his  wife’s  house.  This  is  in  accord 
with  the  philosophy  of  that  most  brilliant  French  thinker,  Emile 
de  Girardin,  who  descants  at  length  on  the  intrinsic  advantages 
of  this  plan  as  being  founded  in  nature,  ancestry  being  far  more 
easily  and  surely  traced  on  the  mother’s  than  on  the  father’s  side. 

SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

We  are  at  last  in  the  land  of  enchantment,  where  helio¬ 
trope  climbs  all  over  the  fronts  of  the  houses  ;  where  corn  grows 
seventeen  feet  high,  and  one  can  have  a  bouquet  of  fresh 
roses  and  a  strawberry  short-cake  on  the  table  all  the  year 
round.  We  are  with  a  people  as  genial  as  the  climate  and 
breathe  an  air  that  makes  wine  seem  more  than  ever  an  unnec¬ 
essary  and  absurd  exhilaration.  Mrs.  Dr.  Gray,  the  dignified 
president,  and  Mrs.  M.  E.  Congdon,  the  keen-brained  secre- 
tary  of  California  W.  C.  T.  U.,  came  five  hundred  miles  to 
welcome  us.  Capt.  A.  D.  Wood,  our  noble  friend,  of  The  Rescue , 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Will  D.  Gould,  of  Los  Angeles,  the  former 
a  gifted  lawyer,  and  the  latter  a  grand  woman,  met  us  at  the 
depot  after  our  long  overland  trip.  But  I  must  not  tell  all 
our  delightful  impressions  and  haps  with  no  mishaps,  until  I 
bring  up  the  log  by  noting  down  some  items  of  our  stay  in 
Tucson,  for  ten  years  the  capital  of  Arizona,  and  still  its  chief 
city. 

Outsiders  say  that  Arizona  means  “  arid  zone,”  but  insiders 
insist  that  its  real  significance  is  “beautiful  zone.”  The  latter 
we  will  not  dispute,  only  its  beauty  is  below  ground,  for  its 
deserts  are  wide  and  its  mines  the  most  famous  of  the  period. 
Roads  leading  nowhere,  desert  plains,  strange,  useless  vegetation  ; 
no  fences,  general  appearances  not  unlike  Arabia  Petraea,  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  books  ;  one  dollar  charged  for  an  aged  canned  meal ; 
now  and  then  an  emigrant  wagon,  with  wild-faced,  bearded  men 
driving  oxen  or  mules  ;  lone  mountains,  tranquil,  treeless  and 
distant,  like  vast,  lieaped-up  shapes  of  sand  or  stone  ;  a  saw-tooth 
sky-line  ;  needle-pointed  shrubs  ;  seven-branched  candlestick  cac¬ 
tus  trees,  forty  feet  high,  these  items  include  some  of  my  im¬ 
pressions  of  Arizona.  The  only  living  things  indigenous  to  the 
plains  that  cheered  our  eyes,  were  six  graceful  antelopes,  discerned 


312  A  New  Name  for  the  Planet  Earth. 

at  early  dawn,  coming  no  whence,  going  no  whither.  What  a 
strange  juxtaposition,  this  wilderness  outside,  and  the  race-horse 
of  the  Bast,  puffing  his  undaunted  way  ;  the  elegant  “silver  car,” 
with  its  artistic  decorations,  its  tapestry  cushions  and  curtains, 
and  way-wise  men  and  women  reading  the  Chicago  dailies,  the 
last  Century ,  of  New  York,  Atlantic,  of  Boston,  or  Spectator,  of 
London,  and  looking  out  through  costly  glass  (adjusted  from 
“opera”  to  “field”)  over  this  waste  of  primeval  lonesomeness! 

SAN  FRANCISCO. 

Of  all  places  on  the  globe,  go  to  the  California  metropolis  if 
you  would  feel  the  strong  pulse  of  internationalism.  Few  have 
caught  its  rhythm,  as  yet,  but  we  must  do  so  if  we  would  be  strong 
enough  to  keep  step  with  that  matchless,  electric  twentieth  cen¬ 
tury  soon  to  go  swinging  past.  You  can  almost  hear  his  resonant 
tread  on  San  Francisco  pavements  ;  his  voice  whispers  in  the 
lengthening  telephone,  saying,  “Yesterday  was  good,  to-day  is 
better,  but  to-morrow  shall  be  the  red-letter  day  of  all  life’s  magic 
calendar.”  I  have  always  been  impatient  of  our  planet’s  name — 
“  the  earth.”  What  other,  among  the  shining  orbs,  has  a  desig¬ 
nation  so  insignificant  ?  That  we  have  put  up  with  it  so  long  is 
a  proof  of  the  awful  inertia  of  the  aggregate  mind,  almost  as  sur¬ 
prising  as  our  endurance  of  the  traffic  in  alcoholic  poison.  With 
Jupiter  and  Venus,  Orion  and  the  Pleiades  smiling  down  upon  us 
in  their  patronizing  fashion,  we  have  been  contented  to  inscribe 
on  our  visiting  cards,  “  At  Home  :  ' The  Earth  !  ”  Out  upon  such 
paucity  of  language.  “  The  dust  o’  the  ground  ”  forsooth  !  That 
answered  well  enough  perhaps  for  a  dark-minded  people  who 
never  even  dreamed  they  were  living  on  a  star.  Even  now  an 
army  of  good  folks  afraid  of  the  next  thing,  just  because  it  is  the 
next,  and  not  the  last,  will  doubtless  raise  holy  hands  of  horror 
against  the  proposition  I  shall  proceed  to  launch  forth  for  the 
first  time,  though  it  is  harmless  as  the  Pope’s  bull  against  the 
comet.  They  wall  probably  oppose  me,  too,  on  theologic  grounds, 
for,  as  Coleridge  hath  it, 

“  Time  consecrates,  and  what  is  gray  with  age  becomes  religion.” 

Nevertheless,  since  we  do  inhabit  a  star,  I  solemnly  propose 
we  cease  to  call  it  a  dirt  heap,  and  being  determined  to  “  live  up 


Rev.  Dr.  Gibson. 


3i3 


to  my  light,”  I  hereby  bring  forward  and  clap  a  patent  upon  the 
name 

CONCORDIA. 

By  the  same  token,  I  met  half  a  dozen  selectest  growths  of 
people  in  San  Francisco  who,  in  the  broadest  international  way 
are  doing  more  to  make  this  name  Concordia  descriptive,  rather 
than  prophetic  in  its  application  to  our  oldest  home,  than  any  other 
people  I  can  name.  They  work  among  the  Chinese,  Japanese, 
and  “wild  Arabs  of  the  Barbary  coast,”  they  go  with  faces  that 
are  an  epitomized  gospel,  and  preach  to  the  stranger  within  the 
Golden  Gate  that  he  is  a  stranger  no  more  ;  they  bring  glad  tid¬ 
ings  of  good  which  shall  be  to  all  people,  for  to  them,  as  to  their 
Master,  “there  is  neither  Jew  nor  Greek,  bond  nor  free,  male 
nor  female  in  Christ  Jesus.” 

Among  the  many  such,  I  can  here  mention  only  two  :  “See 
Otis  Gibson,  or  you  have  missed  the  moral  hero  of  Gold-opolis  ” — 
this  was  concurrent  testimony  coming  from  every  side.  Garfield 
left  no  truer  saying  than  that  the  time  wants  men  ‘  ‘  wrho  have  the 
courage  to  look  the  devil  squarely  in  the  face  and  tell  him  that 
he  is  the  devil.”  Precisely  this  fearless  sort  of  character  is  Rev. 
Otis  Gibson.  He  has  been  the  uncompromising  friend  of  ‘  ‘  the 
heathen  Chinee”  through  all  that  pitiful  Celestial’s  grievous 
fortunes  on  our  Western  shore.  When  others  cursed  he  blessed  ; 
while  others  pondered  he  prayed ;  what  was  lacking  in  schools, 
church,  counsel  and  kindness  he  supplied.  It  cost  something 
thus  to  stand  by  a  hated  and  traduced  race  in  spite  of  hoodlum 
and  Pharisee  combined.  But  Otis  Gibson  could  not  see  why  the 
people  to  whom  we  owe  the  compass  and  the  art  of  printing,  the 
civil  sendee  examination,  the  choicest  porcelain,  might  not  Chris¬ 
tianize  as  readily  on  our  shores  as  on  their  own  !  In  this  faith  he 
and  his  noble  wife  have  worked  on  until  they  have  built  up  a 
veritable  city  of  refuge  for  the  defenseless  and  despairing,  in  the 
young  and  half  barbarous  metropolis  of  the  Pacific  slope. 

We  afterward  visited  the  “Chinese  Quarter,”  so  often  de-  . 
scribed,  under  escort  of  Rev.  Dr.  Gibson.  We  saw  the  theaters 
where  men  sit  on  the  back  and  put  their  feet  on  the  board  part  of 
the  seat ;  where  actors  don  their  costumes  in  full  sight  of  the 
audience,  and  frightful  pictured  dragons  compete  with  worse  dis¬ 
cord,  for  supremacy.  We  saw  the  joss-house,  with  swinging 


3H 


A  Chinese  Home. 


censer  and  burning  incense,  tapers  and  tawdriness,  a  travesty  of 
the  Catholic  ceremonial,  taking  from  the  latter  its  one  poor  merit 
of  originality.  We  saw  a  mother  and  child  kneeling  before  a 
hideous  idol,  burning  tapers,  tossing  dice,  and  thus  “consulting 
the  oracle,”  with  many  a  sidelong  glance  of  inattention  on  the 
part  of  the  six-year-old  boy,  but  with  sighs  and  groans  that  proved 
how  tragically  earnest  was  the  mother’s  faith.  Dr.  Gibson  said 
the  numbers  on  the  dice  corresponded  to  wise  sayings  and  ad¬ 
vices  on  strips  of  paper  sold  by  a  mysterious  Chinese  whose 
‘  ‘  pious  shop  ’  ’  was  in  the  temple  vestibule,  whither  the  poor 
woman  resorted  to  learn  the  result  of  her  “  throw,”  and  then  re¬ 
turned  to  try  again,  until  she  got  some  response  that  quieted  her. 
Could  human  incredulity  and  ignorance  go  farther  ?  We  saw  the 
restaurants,  markets  and  bazaars,  as  thoroughly  Chinese  as  Pekin 
itself  can  furnish ;  the  haunts  of  vice,  all  open  to  the  day  ;  the 
opium  dens,  with  their  comatose  victims  ;  and  then,  to  comfort 
our  hearts  and  take  away  the  painful  vividness  of  woman’s  degra¬ 
dation,  Dr.  Gibson  took  us  to  see  a  Christian  Chinese  home,  made 
by  two  of  his  pupils,  for  years  trained  under  his  eye.  How  can 
I  make  the  contrast  plain  enough  ?  A  square  or  two  away,  the 
horrid  orgies  of  opium  and  other  dens  still  worse,  but  here  a  well- 
kept  dry-goods  store,  where  the  husband  was  proprietor,  and  in 
the  rear  a  quiet,  pleasant,  sacred  home.  The  cleanly,  kind-faced 
wife  busy  with  household  cares,  her  rooms  the  picture  of  neatness, 
her  pretty  baby  sleeping  in  his  crib,  and  over  all  the  peace  that 
comes  from  praise  and  prayer.  Never  in  my  life  did  I  approach 
so  near  to  that  perception,  too  great  for  mortal  to  attain,  of  what 
the  Gospel  has  achieved  for  woman,  as  when  this  gentle,  honored 
wife  and  mother  said,  seeing  me  point  to  an  engraving  of  “  The 
Good  Shepherd  ”  on  her  nursery  wall :  “  Oh,  yes  !  He  gave  this 
home  to  us  A 

How  firm  and  fine  the  etching  that  should  accurately  show 
the  features  of  Mrs.  Sarah  B.  Cooper  !  whose  strong,  sweet  indi¬ 
viduality  I  have  not  seen  excelled — no,  not  even  among  women. 
From  the  time  when  our  Eastern  press  teemed  with  notices  of  the 
Presbyterian  lady  who  had  been  tried  for  heresy  and  acquitted, 
who  had  the  largest  Bible  class  in  San  Francisco  and  was  founder 
of  that  city’s  Kindergartens  for  the  poor,  I  made  a  mental  mem¬ 
orandum  that,  no  matter  whom  I  missed,  this  lady  I  would  see. 


Sarah  B.  Cooper . 


315 


So  at  half-past  twelve  on  a  mild  May  Sabbath  noon,  I  sought  the 
elegant  'Plymouth  Church,  built  by  Rev.  Dr.  A.  L,.  Stone,  for¬ 
merly  of  Boston,  and  found  a  veritable  congregation  in  its  noble 
auditorium.  Men  and  women  of  high  character  and  rare  thought¬ 
fulness  were  gathered,  Bibles  in  hand,  to  hear  the  exposition  of 
the  acquitted  heretic,  whom  a  Pharisaical  deacon  had  begun  to 
assail  contemporaneously  with  her  outstripping  him  in  popularity 
as  an  expounder  of  the  gospel  of  love.  She  entered  quietly  by  a 
side  door,  seated  herself  at  a  table  level  with  the  pews,  laid  aside 
her  fur-lined  cloak  and  revealed  a  fragile,  but  symmetric  figure, 
somewhat  above  the  medium  height,  simply  attired  in  black, 
with  pose  and  movement  altogether  graceful,  and  while  perfectly 
self-possessed,  at  the  farthest  remove  from  being  self-assertive. 
Then  I  noted  a  sweet,  untroubled  brow,  soft  brown  hair  chas¬ 
tened  with  tinge  of  silver  (frost  that  fell  before  its  time,  doubtless 
at  the  doughty  deacon’s  bidding)  ;  blue  eyes,  large,  bright  and 
loving ;  nose  of  the  noblest  Roman,  dominant  yet  sensitive, 
chiseled  by  generations  of  culture,  the  unmistakable  expression 
of  highest  force  and  mettlesomeness  in  character,  held  in  check 
by  all  the  gentlest  sentiments  ;  a  mouth  firm,  yet  delicate,  full  of 
the  smiles  that  follow  tears. 

When  the  delightful  hour  was  over,  among  the  loving  group 
that  gathered  around  her,  attracted  by  the  healing  virtue  of  her 
spiritual  atmosphere,  came  a  temperance  sojourner  from  the  East. 
As  my  name  was  mentioned,  the  face  so  full  of  spirituality  lighted 
even  more  than  was  its  wont,  and  the  soft,  strong  voice  said, 

‘  ‘  Sometimes  an  introduction  is  a  recognition — and  so  I  feel  it  to 
be  now.”  I  consider  that  enough  of  a  compliment  to  last  me  for 
a  term  of  years.  I  feel  that  it  helped  mortgage  me  to  a  pure  life  ; 
I  shall  be  better  for  it  “right  along.”  For  if  I  have  ever  clasped 
hands  with  a  truth-seeker,  a  disciple  of  Christ  and  lover  of  hu¬ 
manity,  Sarah  B.  Cooper  held  out  to  me  that  loving,  loyal  hand. 
A  more  hospitable  intellect  I  have  not  known,  nor  a  glance  more 
wide  and  tolerant ;  “  Christ,  and  him  crucified,”  is  to  that  loyal 
heart  ‘  ‘  the  Chief  among  ten  thousand  and  altogether  lovely.  ’  ’ 

Among  the  best  types  of  representative  women  America  may 
justly  count  Sarah  B.  Cooper,  the  student,  the  Christian  exegete 
and  philosopher,  and  the  tender  friend  of  every  untaught  little 
child. 


3l6 


Doxology  Valley . 


If  I  have  not  yet  written  up  my  California  trip  it  is  not  for 
lack  of  material,  but  rather  because  I  have  such  a  bundle  of  notes 
that  I  dread  to  begin .  California  !  ‘  ‘  She  is  made  up  of  every 
creature’s  best  ” 

THE  YOSKMITK. 

Who  can  fitly  tell  of  the  condensed  impressions  about  God 
made  by  a  valley  only  six  miles  long,  one  mile  wide  and  half  a 
mile  high,  wherein  all  forms  of  solemn,  majestic  and  pastoral 
beauty  are  combined  ? 

When,  after  a  mountain  ride  of  half  a  day,  surrounded  by 
inclined  planes  of  evergreens,  each  of  which  would  have  been  a 
world’s  wonder  at  the  Bast,  with  superb  curves  in  the  road  ever¬ 
more  opening  fresh  vistas  of  illimitable  height,  verdure  and 
beauty,  we  rounded  Inspiration  Point,  ‘  ‘  there  was  no  more  spirit 
in  us.”  Word-pauperism  oppresses  one  upon  this  height  as 
nowhere  else  on  earth.  There  is  in  Europe  a  single  revelation 
of  art  that  has  power  to  silence  the  chatter  even  of  fashion’s 
devotees,  and  that  is  Raphael’s  Sistine  Madonna.  I  have  been 
in  its  seraphic  presence  for  hours  at  a  time,  but  never  heard  a 
vocal  comment.  The  foamiest  natures  are  not  silenced  by  Niag¬ 
ara,  by  Mount  Blanc,  by  the  Jungfrau’s  awful  purity,  or  the  ter¬ 
rors  of  Vesuvius,  for  their  flippant  tones  have  smitten  me  in  all 
these  sacred  places.  But  from  the  little  child  in  our  midst — a 
bright-faced  boy  of  four — to  the  rough,  kind-hearted  driver,  not 
one  word  was  spoken  by  our  party  as  the  heavenly  vision  of  Yo- 
semite,  framed  in  fleecy,  flying  clouds,  greeted  our  thoughtful  eyes, 
and  spoke  of  God  to  our  hushed  souls.  Except  beside  the  dying 
bed  of  my  beloved  I  have  never  felt  the  veil  so  thin  between  me 
and  the  world  ineffable — supernal.  What  was  it  like  ?  Let  no 
pen  less  lofty  than  that  of  Milton,  less  atune  with  Nature’s  purest 
mood  than  that  of  Wordsworth,  hope  to  “  express  unblamed  ”  the 
awful  and  ethereal  beauty  of  what  we  saw.  ‘  ‘  Earth  with  her 
thousand  voices  praises  God,”  sang  the  great  heart  of  Coleridge  of 
the  vale  of  Chamouni,  but  here,  the  divine  chorus  includes  both 
earth  and  heaven,  for  El  Capitan  rears  his  head  into  the  sky, 
while  Sentinel  and  Cathedral  Rocks  and  sky-climbing  Cloud’s  Rest 
round  out  the  full  diapason  of  earthly  and  of  celestial  praise. 
A  holy  awe  rested  upon  us,  and  tears  were  in  all  eyes.  At  last 
the  sacred  silence  was  broken  by  a  rich  voice,  beloved  by  me  for 


Earth  ' s  Noblest  Harbor. 


3i7 


many  a  year,  as  Mrs.  Dr.  Bently  led  the  “  Gloria  in  Excelsis,” 
in  which  the  jubilant  soprano  harmonized  with  the  melodious 
bass  of  humanity’s  united  utterance  of  praise.  “O  come,  let  us 
worship  and  bow  down,  let  us  kneel  before  the  Lord,  our  Maker,” 
these  inspired  words  leaped  to  our  lips,  and  we  found  that  in 
this  supreme  moment  of  our  experience,  beyond  all  poets,  was 
the  fitness  of  grand  old  words  our  mothers  taught  us  from  the 
Book  of  God.  ‘  ‘  The  Ford  is  in  his  holy  temple,  let  all  the  earth 
keep  silence  before  him,”  “  What  is  man  that  thou  art  mindful  of 
him  ?  ”  “  Stand  in  awe  and  sin  not,  ”  these  were  the  words  that 
came  first  to  us,  and  I  believe  we  shall  be  better  men  and  women 
always  for  that  vision  of  eternity  from  which  the  curtain  of  mys¬ 
tery  was  for  a  moment  drawn  aside.  W e  learned  afterward  that  as 
our  two  coaches  rolled  on  into  the  valley  a  third  rounded  “  Inspira¬ 
tion  Point,”  and  Judge - ,  of  Sydney,  Ohio,  a  dear  old  gentle¬ 

man,  rose  to  his  feet,  clasped  his  hands  as  if  in  prayer,  and 
exclaimed  “  Mercy,  mercy,  mercy  !  Have  I  lived  seventy-six  years 
that  I  might  see  this  glory  !  God  made  it  all  !  ”  and  he  lifted  up 
his  voice  and  wept.  Such  a  .scene  as  that  is  once  for  a  life-time. 

We  saw  the  valley  from  an  hundred  points  of  view  afterward; 
we  waved  our  good-by  to  it  a  week  later  from  this  very  spot, 
but  the  first  remains  the  unmatched  view — its  like  will  never 
greet  our  eyes  again — not  in  this  world. 

As  we  sped  onward  into  the  valley  I  thought  of  the  sightless 
children  with  whom  I  used  to  play  at  Forest  Home  and  said: 
“I  never  before  felt  such  pity  for  the  blind.” 

PUGET  SOUND. 

Beautiful  for  situation  is  Puget  Sound.  A  generation  hence 
it  will  be  the  joy  of  this  noble  Republic.  Oregon  with  its 
matchless  mountains  and  river,  Washington  and  its  wonderful 
forests,  are  both  included  in  this  name.  Here  is  the  Pacific 
cowed  and  conquered,  purring  like  a  tamed  tiger  at  the  feet  of  mar¬ 
velous  young  cities.  No  one  can  appreciate  the  transformation 
save  those  who,  like  ourselves,  have  experienced  the  untold  mis¬ 
eries  of  the  voyage  between  San  Francisco  and  Astoria,  Oregon. 
For  fifty-four  hours  I  lay  motionless  in  the  upper  berth  suitably 
assigned  to  one  who,  during  that  interval  when  ‘  ‘  deep  calleth 
unto  deep,”  had  no  part  in  this  world’s  hurry  or  delight. 

Welcome  Puget  Sound  with  its  fathomless  harbors  of  land- 


318 


The  Climax  of  the  Continent. 


locked  blue,  and  the  imperial  pressure  of  such  snow-clad  mount¬ 
ains  as  are  found  nowhere  else,  no,  not  in  Switzerland  ! 

Twice  Anna  Gordon  and  myself  visited  Victoria,  the  cap¬ 
ital  of  British  Columbia,  receiving  a  royal  welcome.  The  sec¬ 
ond  time,  we  went  to  organize  a  Provincial  W.  C.  T.  U.  The 
climate  of  the  Sound  is  perhaps  its  greatest  surprise.  It  is  so 
mild  that  the  English  ivy  grows  out-of-doors  all  the  year  round. 
The  ladies  told  me  they  could  gather  flowers  always  up  to  March, 
when  slight  frosts  generally  appear,  but  of  snow  or  ice  there 
is  nothing  to  signify.  It  has  the  summer  of  Denmark  and 
the  winter  of  Italy.  It  is  a  rare  climate  for  clear  thinking  and 
quiet,  rational  living,  a  soil  in  which  the  temperance  reform  has 
readily  taken  root.  The  forests,  chiefly  of  fir  and  cedar,  are  of 
unequaled  magnificence.  Frequently  more  wood  is  cut  from  an 
acre  of  ground  than  can  be  corded  thereon.  “  Go  West,  young 
woman,  and  grow  up  with  the  country,”  would  be  our  advice  to 
aspiring  girls. 

MONTANA. 

Bishop  Hargrove  of  the  M.  E.  Church,  South,  had  it  about 
right  when  he  said,  “  Montana  has  barely  enough  valleys  to  slip 
in  between  its  hills.”  Never  was  a  territory  more  aptly  named. 
For  beauty  of  railway  scenery  I  should  like  to  know  what  coun¬ 
try  furnishes  anything  superior  to  the  panorama  between  Spokane 
Falls,  W.  T. ,  and  Missoula,  Montana.  Spokane  Falls  itself  is  an 
almost  ideal  town  in  situation,  and  the  cataract  is  better  worth  a 
day’s  journey  to  visit  than  several  on  both  sides  of  the  water  that 
I  have  made  a  pilgrimage  on  purpose  to  behold. 

“Clark’s  Fork”  of  the  Columbia  is  the  absurd  name  of  a 
river  quite  comparable  in  dash  and  beauty  of  color  with  the 
“arrowy  Rhone,”  only  this  is  of  the  most  delicate  emerald,  and 
that,  as  all  the  world  knows,  is  the  most  cerulean  blue.  But  the 
towers,  spires  and  bastions  of  the  American  river  are  unique 
beyond  those  of  any  other  save  the  glorious  river  toward  which  it 
runs — the  Columbia,  Oregon’s  pride  and,  erelong,  the  tourist’s 
favorite  rendezvous. 

We  left  Missoula  July  26  in  a  covered  conveyance  for  Hel¬ 
ena  and  Deer  Lodge — a  distance  of  one  hundred  and  eighty-two 
miles — Rev  Mr.  Shannon,  his  wife  and  little  girl  accompanying 
us.  The  two  horses  and  entire  outfit  had  been  loaned  Mr.  S.  in 


* 


The  Steeds ,  “  Thunder  and  Lightning 319 

token  of  good  will.  He  had  sent  it  ahead  the  night  before 
eighteen  miles  beyond  Missoula,  as  the  railroad  authorities  had 
kindly  permitted  us  to  ride  on  the  construction  train  to  that 
point,  which  was  the  western  terminus  of  this  great  iron  track. 
Here  we  clambered  into  our  wagon  behind  the  unmated  steeds 
loaned  us  from  two  separate  establishments,  packed  away  “big 
box,  little  box,  bandbox  and  bundle  ’  ’  almost  to  the  overflow¬ 
ing  point,  and  set  out  overland.  Anna  dubbed  our  horses 
‘ ‘Thunder  and  Lightning  ’’  ;  for  what  purpose  did  not  appear, 
unless,  as  cheery  young  Mr.  Riggin,  superintendent  of  Methodist 
missions  in  Montana,  said,  “  One  of  them  looked  as  if  he  had 
swallowed  an  avalanche  of  thunder,  and  it  had  n’t  agreed  with 
him,  and  the  other  seemed  to  have  been  struck  by  lightning.” 
We  perambulated  along  through  wooded  valleys,  the  sun’s  light 
obscured  by  forest  fires  and  great  pines  in  process  of  ignition  on 
either  side  our  path.  We  camped  at  noon  beside  a  gurgling 
brook,  spread  our  table-cloth,  boiled  our  eggs  and  tea  over  a  fire 
made  of  pine  cones,  washed  our  dishes  in  the  little  mountain 
stream,  got  some  nice  milk  for  the  baby  from  a  way-side  farm,  and 
took  up  our  “jog  trot’’  over  the  hills  and  far  away.  Our  dark 
horse  “Thunder”  stood  from  under  the  heavy  load  upon  hill¬ 
sides  dangerously  sloping,  and  it  was  droll  indeed  to  see  Mr. 
S.  balance  on  the  hind  wheel  to  strengthen  the  “brake”  while 
his  wife  drove,  and  we  ran  with  stones  to  block  the  hind  wheels. 
Thus  we  worked  our  passage  the  first  day  and  wished  for  lands 
with  railroads.  It  came  to  pass,  however,  that  when  we  stopped 
at  night,  having  made  fifty-six  miles,  cars  and  all,  we  found  that 
it  was  “all  along  of”  the  misfitting  collar  that  poor  Thunder 
had  led  us  such  a  hard  life,  whereupon  he  became  the  pet  of 
the  party.  I  could  but  think  whether  it  be  not  true  that  a  gall¬ 
ing,  ill-adjusted  yoke,  may  explain  much,  in  many  cases,  of  the 
criss-cross  and  contradiction  of  this  our  mortal  life. 

Our  second  day’s  ride  was  much  ameliorated  by  the  experi¬ 
ence  of  the  past  and  the  increased  adequacy  of  our  thunderous 
steed.  We  had  leisure  to  take  in  the  changeful  beauty  of  Mon¬ 
tana,  a  territory  with  an  individuality  all  its  own.  It  is  the 
fourth  in  size  among  the  grand  divisions  of  Uncle  Sam’s  estate, 
the  order  of  extent  being  as  follows  :  Texas,  California,  Dakota, 


I 


320 


“  Over  the  Hills  and  Far  Away.” 


Montana.  It  is  emphatically  the  pasture  land  of  the  Republic, 
and  its  cattle  kings  are  justly  famed. 

Montana  sometimes  exhibits  a  thermometer  marking  fifty- 
seven  degrees  below  zero,  but  so  light  and  clear  is  the  atmosphere 
that  the  people  declare  they  ‘  ‘  do  not  feel  the  cold  as  they  used 
to  back  East.”  The  territory  is  thinly  settled  as  yet,  but  rail¬ 
roading  is  simply  rampant  there  and  in  Idaho,  and  we  shall  soon 
regard  both  as  next  door  neighbors. 

On  our  third  day’s  ride,  we  passed  the  place  where  robbers 
sacked  a  stage  and  killed  a  horse  a  few  days  previous.  Though 
unarmed  and  mostly  of  the  timid  class,  I  don’t  think  we  felt 
a  qualm.  Somehow,  though  distance  lends  enchantment,  prox¬ 
imity  brings  grit  to  bear,  and  we  went  on  our  way  rejoicing.  On 
our  fourth  day’s  riding  we  passed  the  logs  beside  the  road  from 
behind  which,  not  twenty-four  hours  earlier,  three  masked  men 
had  pointed  guns  at  the  stage  load,  and  afterward  at  a  private 
conveyance,  making  them  stand  and  deliver.  Perhaps  it  was  on 
the  principle,  they  that  know  nothing  fear  nothing  ;  anyhow,  we 
did  n’t  mind,  but  jogged  on  over  endless  reaches  of  hill  country, 
till  we  reached  a  stage  station  where  we  slept  the  sleep  of  the 
weary,  if  not  of  the  just. 

We  were  glad  to  learn  that  the  robbers  were  captured  in  a 
few  days  after  their  crime.  Brother  Garvin  told  me  that  Plum¬ 
mer,  the  greatest  ‘  ‘  road  agent  ’  ’  of  the  far  West  (for  by  that 
euphemism  do  they  absurdly  .soften  down  the  atrocious  occupa¬ 
tion  of  these  men)  could  in  two  and  a  half  seconds  take  his  pistol 
from  his  pocket,  and  fire  three  bullets,  hitting  a  little  percussion- 
cap  box  at  ten  paces.  Woe  is  me,  to  think  of  such  quickness  of 
mind  and  dexterity  of  hand  turned  to  an  unmixed  curse. 

couple  of  droll  speeches  were  reported  to  me  on  this  trip. 
One  was  by  an  emigrant  woman  in  Washington  Territory,  who 
was  seated  in  a  rude  wagon  behind  a  weary-looking  ox  team, 
while  the  lordly  owner  was  refreshing  himself  in  a  saloon.  A 
tourist  accosted  her  with  the  words,  “How  do  you  like  it  out 
here  ?  ”  and  she  answered,  “  Well,  stranger,  it  may  do  well  enough 
for  men,  but  I  tell  you  what,  it’s  drefful  poor  country  for  women 
and  oxen!”  Another  passing  traveler  asked  a  Montana  girl  if 
she  had  ever  seen  the  cars  and  received  this  philosophic  answer 


Mormon  Cookery. 


321 


which  might  be  appropriately  headed  ‘  ‘  sweet  satisfaction  ’  ’  : 
*  No  sir,  I  can’t  say  that  I  ever  saw  the  cars,  but  I  don’t  care, 
I’d  just  as  lief  see  the  stage.” 

UTAH. 

After  leaving  Montana,  we  boxed  the  compass  of  Utah, 
home  of  the  strangest  civilization  of  modern  times,  the  “  Church 
of  the  Latter  Day  Saints.  ’  ’ 

First  of  all  our  train  entered  Cache  Valley  north  of  Ogden, 
and  we  watched  out  sharply  for  signs  of  the  new  departure. 
Early  in  the  day,  we  passed  numerous  farms  and  little  villages, 
utterly  treeless  and  forlorn,  whereupon  we  ejaculated  :  “  There  ! 

we’ve  struck  Mormondom,  no  doubt  of  it;  plain  to  be  seen  as  a 
pikestaff.”  When,  behold,  we  were  informed  by  the  conductor 
of  our  mistake,  for  these  dreary  burghs  were  ‘  ‘  Gentile  ’  ’  beyond 
a  peradventure.  Later  on,  they  grew  more  winsome,  with  trim 
little  homes,  trees  and  vines,  yellow  harvests  and  solid  comfort 
everywhere.  Mirabile  dictu !  These  were  the  Mormon  settle¬ 
ments  !  We  soon  learned  that  their  most  salient  features  were 
the  presence  of  willow  fences  around  the  fields,  woven  somewhat 
like  a  basket — an  Old  World  notion,  imported  by  the  Mormon 
emigrants,  which,  combined  with  the  churchless  aspect  of  the 
villages  themselves  (for  the  Mormon  ‘  ‘  Tabernacle  ’  ’  has  an 
architecture  peculiar  to  itself,  not  unlike  our  notion  of  what  the 
temple  might  have  been)  gave  a  novel  aspect  to  .the  scene. 
Noon  came,  and  we  stopped  for  dinner  at  the  notable  Mormon 
town  of  Logan,  where  we  first  saw  one  of  these  stately  buildings. 
Our  breakfast  in  a  Gentile  village  had  been  simply  execrable. 
Here,  it  was  the  most  toothsome  we  had  tasted  in  a  year.  It  was 
homelike,  wholesome  and  appetizing  ;  “  Mother’s  cooking  !  ”  was 
my  immediate  exclamation.  The  butter,  with  flavor  and  fra¬ 
grance  of  sweet  pastures  and  new-mown  hay,  reminded  me  of  the 
cool  cellar  and  delightsome  dairy  of  my  old  Wisconsin  home. 
What  a  contrast  to  the  frouzy  abomination  usually  taken  as  medi¬ 
cine  in  railroad  waiting-rooms  in  that  sultry  month  of  August! 
The  bread  was  worthy  of  its  companionship,  with  cheese  that  was 
the  ambrosial  essence  of  sweet  cream,  the  vegetables  simply  de¬ 
lightful,  the  meat  could  be  prepared  for  deglutition  without  the 
ten  minutes  of  assiduous  grinding  we  so  often  laboriously  give, 
and  the  table-cloth,  dishes,  etc.,  were  absolutely  whole,  fresh  and 
21 


322 


A  Mormon  Tabernacle. 


clean !  A  neat,  modest,  rosy-cheeked  girl  was  our  attendant — 
the  first  real,  live  Mormon  I  had  ever  seen  “for  certain.’ 7  This 
was  lief  sorry  classification  as  the  following  brief  dialogue  dis¬ 
closed  : 

Gentile  Temperance  Traveler. — Is  this  a  Mormon  town? 

Modest  Waitress. — I  suppose  it  would  be  called  so,  though 
some  Gentiles  live  here. 

Traveler. — Is  this  Gentile  or  Mormon  cooking?  that’s  what 
I  want  to  know. 

Waitress. — Well,  since  you  ask,  I  can  assure  you  it  is  Mor¬ 
mon  like  myself. 

Traveler. — Well,  it  is  an  unspeakable  credit  to  the  Mormons, 
that’s  all  I  have  to  say,  and  I’m  a  judge,  having  learned  by  the 
things  I  have  suffered.  The  Indian  chief  asked,  “Who  is  there 
to  mourn  for  Togan  ?  ’  ’  and  I  promise  you  here  is  one  weary 
wayfarer,  of  microscopic  appetite,  who  will  hereafter  “mourn  for 
L,ogan;;  every  time  the  brakeman  pipes  his  dreary  warning,  “  Train 
stops  for  dinner  at  this  place.  ’  ’ 

We  reached  Ogden  toward  night.  Sabbath  morning  we 
went  to  the  Mormon  Tabernacle  with  our  host  and  Mr.  Cannon, 
son  of  the  famous  George  O.  Cannon  of  Washington  memory. 
Forgetting  for  a  moment  this  significant  fact,  I  asked  the  accom¬ 
plished  young  man  if  he  had  brothers  and  sisters,  whereupon  he 
meekly  answered,  “ About  twenty .” 

We  entered  the  tabernacle,  which  seats  three  thousand  per¬ 
sons.  It  was  almost  surrounded  by  horses  and  wagons  from  the 
country,  and  was  tolerably  well  filled  with  a  motley  throng  of  what 
would  be  called  the  common  people.  There  were  no  windows 
save  very  large  ones  j  ust  beneath  the  oval  roof  at  each  end  of  the 
building.  The  seats  sloped  toward  the  wide  platform  where, 
behind  a  choir  of  nice-looking  women  and  a  few  men,  sat  the 
speakers  of  the  hour.  Nobody  knows  who  will  speak,  there  are 
no  paid  ministers,  but  every  man  is  free  to  exercise  his  gift  of 
exhortation  and  of  prophecy,  the  younger  brethren  being  put  for¬ 
ward  with  a  kindly  tolerance  on  the  part  of  the  fathers  in  Zion, 
which  our  churches  might  wisely  emulate. 

It  was  the  annual  meeting  of  the  “Mutual  Improvement 
Societies’  ’  of  this  county ;  or  as  it  is  curiously  called,  ‘  ‘  This 
Stake  of  Zion.’’ 


How  Mormons  Talk. 


323 


Reports  were  given  by  half  a  dozen  honest-looking  young 
men,  evidently  accustomed  to  public  speaking,  for  their  voices 
reached  without  effort  the  seat  far  back,  where,  in  the  middle 
tier,  we  sat  with  the  rest  of  the  women,  the  men  forming  a  sort  of 
guard  on  either  side.  There  was  not  an  instance  of  whispering, 
even  the  children,  though  evidently  not  under  repressive  training, 
keeping  remarkably  quiet.  All  the  men  spoke  in  the  same 
style — as  if  following  a  certain  model. 

There  were  no  figures  of  speech,  no  anecdotes,  only  a  certain 
equipoise,  deliberateness  and  dreary  level  of  mediocrity.  They 
talked  about  the  meetings  in  which  they  study  the  history  and 
doctrines  of  their  church.  One  said  :  “We  have  purchased  a 
book-case  that  cost  us  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of  sixty 
dollars,  and  we  hope,  after  awhile,  to  have  a  reading-room  to 
put  it  in.  ’  ’  Another  told  about  the  ‘  ‘  benefits  to  be  deriven  ’ ? 
from  this  mutual  improvement  society.  All  who  spoke,  and 
there  were  half  a  dozen  at  least,  conspicuously  murdered  the 
Queen’s  English.  Nearly  all  closed  with  a  perfunctory  “This 
is  my  prayer,  in  the  name  of  Jesus,  Amen,”  pronounced  with  eyes 
wide  open. 

A  son  of  Apostle  Rich  (“one  of  the  twelve”)  preached  a 
brief  discourse.  He  has  just  returned  from  England,  and  is  one 
of  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  missionaries  who  go  out  minus  purse 
or  scrip  to  win  converts  in  distant  lands.  He  had  more  culture 
than  his  brethren,  and  proceeded  on  this  fashion,  using  the  Bible 
as  a  sort  of  fulcrum.  His  text  was,  “Blessed  art  thou,  Simon 
Bar-jona  :  for  flesh  and  blood  hath  not  revealed  it  unto  thee,  but 
my  Father  which  is  in  heaven.”  Matt.  16:17.  “My  breth¬ 
ren  and  sisters,  I  ask  the  prayers  of  the  Eatter  Day  Saints  who 
are  here,  and  also  of  those  who  are  not.  I  ask  the  good  wishes 
of  all.  Our  religion  is  different  from  all  others.  Christ  is  the 
head  of  His  church,  even  as  the  husband  is  the  head  of  his  wife, 
but  a  wife  would  be  of  very  little  use  to  her  husband,  if  she  had 
no  head  of  her  own,  would  n’t  she  ?  [Smiles  and  nodding  of  the 
women’s  heads  in  approbation  !]  Even  so  Christ  has  never  left 
His  church  without  a  head.  Some  say  there  is  110  need  of  a  far¬ 
ther  revelation,  but  I  declare  that  the  first  proof  that  any  revela¬ 
tion  is  real  must  be  that  it  goes  right  on.  We  believe  that  there 
is  no  people  on  this  earth  who  really  follow  Christ,  except  those 


324 


A  Zealous  Disciple. 


who  receive  the  revelation  of  His  latest  prophet,  Joseph  Smith, 
who  stood  up  at  fourteen  years  old  and  went  into  the  woods  and 
declared  that  there  he  received  a  revelation.  The  world  says  : 
‘We  don’t  care  how  much  you  believe  in  your  revelation,  if 
you  will  let  alone  the  principle  of  plural  marriage  which  we 
are  bound  to  stamp  out.’ 

“  But  it  is  not  for  this  principle  that  our  fathers  and  moth¬ 
ers  were  driven  into  the  wilderness.  In  the  early  days  of  the 
church  my  mother  had  muzzles  of  pistols  at  her  head  to  make 
her  tell  where  my  father  was.  She  has  seen  him  fired  at  when 
carrying  a  flag  of  truce.  Was  this  because  of  his  belief  in  polyg¬ 
amy  ?  No,  it  was  because  he  held  to  the  Bible,  its  form  of 
government,  its  teachings  and  examples  all  through.  I  believe 
the  Bible  prophets  have  had  successors,  and  that  Joseph  Smith, 
Brigham  Young  and  John  Taylor,  are  true  prophets  of  God. 
If  the  Gentiles  could  bring  up  as  many  proofs  that  our  doctrine 
is  false  as  a  sixteen-year-old  Mormon  boy  can  that  it  is  true, 
they  could  stamp  it  out  quick  enough.  But  here  are  we  accord¬ 
ing  to  prophecy.  Don’t  the  Bible  say,  ‘  Let  us  go  up  to  the 
temple  of  the  Lord,  that  is  in  the  tops  of  the  mountains  ?  ’  Well, 
here  we  are,  and  ‘seeing  is  believing.’  The  people  who  drove 
us  here  had  little  idea  that  they  were  fulfilling  prophecy  !  Our 
elders  carried  to  the  wilderness  the  promise  and  prophecy  of 
Joseph  Smith,  that  in  baptism  they  should  receive  the  testimony 
that  ours  is  the  true  religion.  They  have  taken  the  medicine  and 
know  it  does  what  it  agrees  to.  If  you  who  are  here  this  morning 
will  take  it  also  you  will  rejoice  in  the  same  result.  Let  us  not 
have  theory,  let  us  have  experience.  I  can  take  my  Bible  under 
my  arm  and  go  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  and  testify  for  the  religion 
of  the  Latter  Day  Saints.  I  know  it  will  yet  fill  the  earth  as  the 
waters  do  the  great  deep.  It  can  be  so  deeply  stamped  upon  the 
youthful  mind  that  all  hell  can  not  prevail  against  it.” 

The  young  man  spoke  earnestly  and  with  evident  convic¬ 
tion. 

As  a  temperance  worker  I  was  glad  of  the  testimony  of  An¬ 
son  Call,  one  of  the  leaders,  who  said,  “  Young  men  who  attend 
our  Mutual  Improvement  Society  can  readily  be  known  by  the 
greater  purity  of  their  habits.  As  a  class  they  do  not  drink,  use 
tobacco,  nor  swear.” 


Young  Mr.  Cannon . 


325 


The  last  speech  was  by  H.  Anderson,  a  pure-faced  young 
man,  who  publishes  the  Mormon  paper.  Our  keen-witted  lawyer 
host  (the  scalpel  of  whose  criticism  doesn’t  .spare  the  Mormon 
leaders),  said  to  me  as  he  came  forward,  “There  is  a  native 
product,  a  thorough  gentleman,  one  whose  life  illustrates  every 
Christian  virtue,  though  he  is  a  Mormon  through  and  through.  ” 
He  said  : 

“When  we  have  young  men  who  can  expound  the  prin¬ 
ciples  of  our  church  as  has  been  done  this  morning,  it  is  indeed 
a  comfort  and  refreshment.  We  are  willing  to  be  judged  by  our 
fruits.  Take  the  Mormons  of  Cache  Valley  and  Ogden,  and 
our  own  county  as  a  class,  and  compare  them  with  others  as  to 
truth,  kindness  and  uprightness.  We  have  learned  to  be  good — 
for  I  went  to  Sabbath-school  when  a  boy,  and  learned  to  honor 
God  and  my  parents,  and  those  by  whom  I  was  surrounded.  We 
are  becoming  better,  nobler,  more  upright.  Why,  then,  do  the 
Gentiles  object  to  our  polygamy?  But  then  God’s  people  are 
always  persecuted — this  is  one  of  the  surest  marks  of  God’s  favor. 
The  time  is  short.  The  Gospel  is  to  be  preached  to  all  nations, 
and  then  shall  the  end  come.” 

The  services  were  closed  with  a  beautiful  anthem,  that  Anna 
Gordon  says  they  sing  in  her  own  home  church  near  Boston. 

One  of  the  men  lifted  his  hand,  whereupon  all  rose  and  he 
pronounced  the  benedictory  prayer. 

I  walked  up  the  street  with  young  Mr.  Cannon,  who  little 
guessed  the  turbulent  subjectivity  beside  him.  He  was  too  polite 
to  ask  an  opinion  and  I  was  too  considerate  to  offer  one.  But 
never  in  my  life  have  I  been  more  profoundly  disturbed.  The 
service  was  such  an  awful  travesty  of  ‘  ‘  the  faith  once  delivered 
to  the  saints.”  For  the  moment  I  thought  I  never  wanted  to 
hear  those  words  again.  It  was  as  if  Christianity  had  died  and 
they  were  galvanizing  its  corpse  into  hideous  contortions  imita¬ 
tive  of  life.  “Wounded  in  the  house  of  his  friends”  has  our 
Christ  always  been  and  far  more  grievously  than  any  free-thinker 
can  ever  wound  Him!  For  whatever  may  be  true  of  Brigham 
Young  and  his  hierarchy,  these  were  honest,  simple,  kindly  souls, 
and  believed  what  they  had  said  about  Joe  Smith  as  a  prophet 
and  polygamy  as  a  sacred  tie.  But  for  the  self-control  which 


326 


Forty  in  Family. 


years  and  discipline  have  brought  me  since  my  impetuous  girl' 
hood  days,  I  would  have  lifted  up  my  voice  and  wept. 

Partly  was  I  grieved  for  them  in  their  awful  delusion  ;  for 
human  reason  brought  so  low,  for  deadly  fanaticism  that  blights 
every  fairest  flower  of  the  beautiful  soul,  so  rampant  in  its  credulity, 
when  in  our  own  sublimated  land  and  sunlit  century  it  ought  to 
be  so  balanced  and  serene.  But  as  a  woman,  my  sense  of  outrage 
and  humiliation  was  be^^ond  language.  The  highest  ideals  of 
noble  souls  in  all  ages  were  here  trampled  under  foot  by  those 
who  verily  thought  they  did  God  service.  The  lofty  companion¬ 
ship  of  “  Two  heads  in  council ,  two  beside  the  hearth ,  ”  on  which 
Home’s  sacred  citadel  is  founded,  how  it  is  blotted  out  in  the 
“Church  of  the  Latter  Day  Saints”!  Woman  becomes  the 
servitor  of  man,  having  no  promise  of  heaven  save  through  her 
relations  to  him,  and  he,  whose  relations  to  her  are  intended  to 
exalt  and  purify  every  faculty  of  his  nature,  loses  his  loftiest  and 
sweetest  hopes  of  manly  character.  Childhood,  too,  is  defrauded 
of  its  most  precious  inheritance,  the  tender  guardianship  of  faith¬ 
ful  parentage,  and  fond  tie  of  brother  and  sisterhood.  “  About 
twenty  brothers  and  sisters,”  said  young  Cannon.  What  can 
he  know  of  the  close  love  of  our  fireside  groups  in  Christian 
families  ?  A  young  lady  of  Salt  Lake  City  said  with  a  twinge 
of  pain  upon  her  face,  “  My  father  has  at  least  forty  children  ;  I 
do  not  think  he  would  know  me  should  he  meet  me  on  the  street.  ” 

Three  Mormon  ladies  called  upon  me  at  Salt  Lake  ;  one  was 
the  editor  of  The  Woman's  Exponent ,  another  was  an  accom¬ 
plished  lady  physician,  educated  in  Philadelphia  and  Boston,  the 
third  had  been  a  wife  of  Brigham  Young.  All  were  bright 
women,  leaders  of  their  church.  At  first  I  did  not  know  that 
they  were  Mormons,  and  when,  in  speaking  of  that  as  voting  day, 
two  of  them  said,  “The  government  of  the  United  States  has  dis¬ 
franchised  us  because  we  are  polygamists,”  I  simply  replied,  “  On 
that  question  I  have  my  own  opinion,  but  the  temperance  work  is 
the  only  reform  about  which  I  care  to  express  myself  in  Utah.” 
They  had  avowed  their  interest  in  our  society,  and  I  was  glad  of 
this.  Said  Mrs.  Young,  “  A  wise  general  will  not  on  the  eve 
of  battle,  ask  the  religious  opinions  of  his  soldiers,  but  rather 
this  question,  ‘  Are  you  ready  to  do  battle  against  our  common 
foe.’  ”  As  years  have  passed,  our  society  has,  however,  taken 


Grave  of  Brigham  Young. 


327 


higher  ground  than  this  and  come  out  squarely  against  such 
Mormons  as  persist  in  the  practice  of  polygamy. 

We  went  to  Brigham’s  grave  as  a  wonder  of  its  kind,  being 
to  an  American  woman  the  most  obnoxious  on  the  whole  circle 
of  the  planet.  Three  tons  of  granite  in  one  block  were  hardly 
needed  to  hold  him  from  aerial  heights,  his  own  specific  gravity 
settled  that  matter  !  But  he  is  thus  hedged  in  to  keep  his  bones 
from  desecration,  probably,  and  his  only  dead  wife  (poetic  justice 
that,  with  this  exception,  the  whole  outfit  should  .survive  him  !) 
has  no  stone  nor  flower  to  mark  her  grave.  What  an  oversight 

on  the  part  of  the  loving  sisterhood,  who,  with  her,  shared  his 

\ 

affections. 

By  the  way,  we  saw  a  most  inferior  woman  hurrying  from  a 
Mormon  house,  when  one  of  us  commented  upon  her  stolid  ap¬ 
pearance  and  the  other  remarked,  “Eternal  fitness!  only  the 
fifth  part  of  a  woman  would  ever  take  up  with  the  fifth  part  of  a 
man.”  The  prettiest  place  we  saw  was  “  Rose  Bud  Cottage,”  a 
Mormon,  but  not  a  polygamous  home,  completely  embowered  in 
trees  and  vines,  the  latter  being  trained  over  strings,  so  that  they 
lay  as  a  roof  of  greenery  overhead,  along  the  garden  paths. 
Nothing  more  sylvan,  cool  and  restful  could  greet  one’s  eye. 

Salt  Lake  with  its  Mormon  and  ‘  ‘  Gentile  ’  ’  population  has 
every  convenience  and  luxury  of  any  city  ;  has  “  Gentile  ”  society 
of  the  forcible  type  that  dares  consecrate  life  to  setting  up  the 
American  civilization  among  a  people  essentially  alien  in  purpose 
and  life.  Altogether  we  never  had  a  more  curious,  pleasant, 
pathetic  trio  of  days  than  in  far-famed  “  Deseret.” 

Ogden,  Utah,  is  a  far  lovelier  town  than  we  are  taught. 
Doubtless  it  has  improved  since  becoming  a  railroad  center  of 
five  different  roads.  Its  summer  climate  is  delightfully  tem¬ 
pered  by  “the  canyon  breeze,”  which  blows  nearly  one  half  of 
the  twenty-four  hours,  and  the  near  neighborhood  of  this  same 
delightful  valley  affords  to  the  home  people  such  facilities  for 
camping  out  as  must  go  far  to  conserve  their  health,  rejuvenate 
their  spirits  and  drive  dull  care  away.  If  asked  in  my  own  life, 
and  that  of  our  fevered  Americans,  the  greatest  mistake  and  depri¬ 
vation,  I  would  say:  “Great  Nature  hasn’t  half  a  chance  to 
soothe,  enrich  and  nurture  us  ;  we  ‘  go  touring,  ’  but  we  do 
not  let  the  calm  old  mother  take  us  to  her  heart  and  sing  the 


328 


Notes  of  Southern  Travel . 


lullaby  that  we  sigh  for  without  knowing  what  we  miss.”  Only 
blurred  and  misty  revelations  of  God  can  come  to  souls  so 
worn  and  travel-stained.  When  we  temperance  workers  go  to 
the  sea  or  to  the  mountains,  it  is  still  to  wring  from  our  tired 
brains  a  few  more  thoughts  for  public  utilization  or  a  little  “stored 
up  energy”  of  magnetism  for  a  “summer  audience.”  May  the 
valleys,  trees  and  skies  forgive  us  this  profanation  of  their  sanct¬ 
uaries  and  this  profane  substitution  of  our  restless  glances  and 
babbling  tongues  for  their  sacred  liturgy. 


SOUTHWARD  HO  !  * 

My  first  trip  of  three  months  (1881)  spent  in  blessed  work  for 
the  homes  and  loved  ones  of  a  most  genial,  intelligent  and  heartily 
responsive  people,  made  me  quite  in  love  with  the  South.  To 
think  they  should  have  received  me  as  a  sister  beloved,  yet  with 
full  knowledge  that  I  was  that  novel  and  unpalatable  combina¬ 
tion  (as  a  Richmond  gentleman  said)  ‘  ‘  a  woman ;  a  Northern 
woman,  a  temperance  woman  !  ”  I  had  been  told  that  to  speak 
in  public  in  the  South  was  ‘  ‘  not  to  be  thought  of,  that  all 
would  be  lost  if  I  attempted  anything  beyond  parlor  meet¬ 
ings.  But  instead  of  this,  their  liberality  of  sentiment  was 
abundantly  equal  to  the  strain ;  their  largest  churches  were 
filled  with  the  best,  most  influential  and  thoughtful  people  ;  their 
ministers  were  more  united  and  earnest  in  the  temperance  cause 
than  ours  at  the  North  ;  their  editors,  without  the  slightest  sub¬ 
sidizing,  were  as  kind  and  helpful  as  my  own  brother  could 
have  been.  Nay,  the  only  grief  I  had  was  in  being  spoken  of 
so  much  better  in  every  way  than  my  own  consciousness  bore  me 
witness  that  I  merited. 

From  the  first  the  Southern  ladies  took  up  our  quiet,  system¬ 
atic  lines  of  work  with  an  intelligence  and  zeal  that  I  have 
never  seen  exceeded  and  seldom  equaled.  There  was  an  “  our- 
folks  ’  ’  air  in  audiences,  cars,  and  on  the  streets  that  was  quite 
refreshing.  The  native  population  is  so  regnant,  colored  popula- 

*  In  my  book  entitled  “  Woman  and  Temperance  ”  I  have  given  an  extended  account 
of  my  Southern  trips,  now  numbering  six,  hence  these  brief  notes. 


New  Orleans  Exposition. 


329 


tion  is  of  such  home-like  nature,  and  the  foreign  element  so 
insignificant  in  influence  and  numbers,  that  temperance  has  an 
immense  advantage  at  the  South.  Beer  has  no  such  grip  on  the 
habits  or  the  politics  of  the  people  as  at  the  North.  Almost 
without  exception  the  gulf  and  seabound  states  have  taken 
advance  ground.  The  time  is  ripe  ;  “  the  sound  in  the  mulberry 
trees  ’  ’  is  plainly  audible.  I  have  now  made  five  trips  thither,  and 
always  with  the  same  warm  welcome. 

On  a  later  journey  I  spent  a  week  in  New  Orleans  at  the 
time  of  the  famous  Exposition. 

Here  our  natural  point  of  rendezvous  was  the  booth  of  the 
National  W.  C.  T.  U.  ;  en  route  thither  we  passed  through  an  im¬ 
mense  park  with  an  avenue  of  live-oaks  that  would  be  a  glory  in 
itself  were  it  in  Central  Park  or  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  We 
climbed  the  slow,  graded  stairs  of  the  great  government  building, 
and  turning  to  the  right  came  upon  a  home-like  oasis  in  the  des¬ 
ert  of  strangeness,  for  from  a  hundred  costly  banners,  white  and 
golden,  blue  and  emerald,  representing  every  state  and  territory 
of  the  great  Republic,  gleamed  on  every  side  the  magic  legend 
that  we  love,  “For  God  and  Home  and  Native  Land.”  Here  at 
last  were  the  flags,  and  pennon  fair,  and  brilliant  gonfalon  of  the 
Ohio  Crusade  and  the  Continental  white  ribboners  ! 

At  three  o’clock  of  that  day,  I  was  expected  to  preside  and 
speak  on  behalf  of  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  The  auditorium 
seated  over  eleven  thousand  persons,  and  the  only  blunder  of  the 
Exposition  was  that  the  music  of  the  Corliss  engine  drowned  all 
competing  voices.  The  engine  did  not  stop  until  four  o’clock 
and  we  were  to  begin  at  three.  Fancy  a  vibrant  soprano  unable 
to  hear  itself  in  all  the  whiz  and  roar  of  a  cataract  of  sound 
where  the  most  capacious  lungs  could  not  reach  over  a  thousand 
persons  even  when  the  machinery  was  motionless  !  But  the  advan¬ 
tage  of  speaking  there  was  that  a  stenographic  reporter  sat  just 
beside  me,  and  the  audience  that  hears  with  its  eye,  got  my  ideas 
next  morning  in  the  Times-Dcmocrat  and  Picayune.  We  went 
through  the  pantomime  of  a  meeting.  Bro.  Mead  pitched  the 
tune  “  Coronation,”  but  to  the  rumbling  orchestra  of  that  remorse¬ 
less  “Corliss,”  our  singing  was  like  the  chirping  of  a  sparrow 
when  an  avalanche  is  falling.  I  went  through  the  motions  of 
calling  off  the  parts,  and  bravely  that  sweet-voiced  gentlewoman, 


330 


A  Temperance  “ Stint .” 


Mrs.  Judge  Merrick,  went  to  the  front  and  articulated  the  Cru¬ 
sade  Psalm,  after  which  Mary  T.  Lathrap  offered  prayer.  Then 
gallantly  came  to  our  rescue  broad-shouldered  Governor  St.  John, 
and  talked  against  time  until  the  horrible  mouthing  of  that  piti¬ 
less  engine  ceased.  The  great  audience  was  in  good  humor,  and 
deserting  the  chairs,  stood  closely  around  him,  eager  to  catch 
every  word,  while  he  spoke  in  frank,  soldierly  fashion  to  the 
men  who  once  had  worn  the  gray,  even  as  he  had  the  blue,  and 
predicted  the  good  time  coming.  That  Governor  St.  John  is  a 
man  who  can  ‘  ‘  tire  out  ’  ’  almost  any  other  on  the  platform  is 
well  known,  but  as  a  tour  de  force  I  have  never  seen  equalled  the 
speech  of  this  afternoon  when,  as  he  declared  should  be  the  case, 
he  “wore  out”  the  Corliss  engine.  At  four  o’clock  Mrs.  La- 
thrap  and  I  made  brief  addresses,  and  Mrs.  Wells  read  the  song 
salutation  dedicated  to  Louisiana  W.  C.  T.  U.  by  Indiana’s  white 
ribbon  poet,  Mrs.  Leavitt,  of  Vernon.  Wearier  women  have  slept 
the  sleep  of  the  just,  perhaps,  but  more  willing  dreamers  never 
were,  than  the  twain — Matilda  B.  Carse  and  I — who  retired  from 
view  at  seven  p.  m.  that  night. 

As  a  temperance  worker,  I  was  devoted  to  my  4  ‘  stint,  ”  as  I 
called  it,  which  consisted  of  presenting  the  white-ribbon  cause, 
not  only  in  every  capital,  but  in  every  other  town  and  city  in  our 
country  that  by  the  census  of  1870  had  10,000  inhabitants.  This 
was  completed  in  1883. 


EN  ROUTE”  IN  MONTANA. 


VI 


E  2Trmprranrc  Etinoratr  anti  ©rganurr. 


HOME  PROTECTION  PETITION.  200,000  NAMES. 

“The  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  is  organ 

IZED  MOTHER-LOVE.” 


Hannah  W/iitall  Smith 


' 


CHAPTER  I. 


ON  THE  THRESHOLD. 

From  my  earliest  recollection  there  hung  on  the  dining-room 
wall  at  our  house,  a  pretty  steel  engraving.  It  was  my  father’s 
certificate  of  membership  in  the  Washingtonian  Society,  and  was 
dated  about  1835.  He  had  never  been  a  drinking  man,  was  a 
reputable  young  husband,  father,  business  man  and  church  mem¬ 
ber,  but  when  the  movement  reached  Churchville,  near  Roches¬ 
ter,  N.  Y.,  he  joined  it.  The  little  picture  represented  a  bright, 
happy  temperance  home  wdth  a  sweet  woman  at  the  center,  and 
over  against  it  a  dismal,  squalid  house  with  a  drunken  man  stag¬ 
gering  in,  bottle  in  hand.  Unconsciously  and  ineffaceably  I 
learned  from  that  one  object-lesson  what  the  precepts  and  prac¬ 
tice  of  my  parents  steadily  enforced,  that  we  were  to  let  strong 
drink  alone. 

In  1855  I  cut  from  my  favorite  Youth' s  Cabinet ,  the  chief 
juvenile  paper  of  that  day,  the  following  pledge,  and  pasting  it  in 
cur  family  Bible,  insisted  on  its  being  signed  by  every  member  of 
the  family — parents,  brother,  sister  and  self. 

“A  pledge  we  make  no  wine  to  take, 

Nor  brandy  red  that  turns  the  head, 

Nor  fiery  rum  that  ruins  home, 

Nor  brewers’  beer,  for  that  we  fear, 

And  cider,  too,  will  never  do. 

To  quench  our  thirst,  we’ll  always  bring 
Cold  water  from  the  well  or  spring  ; 

So  here  we  pledge  perpetual  hate 
To  all  that  can  intoxicate.” 

It  is  still  there,  thus  signed,  and  represents  the  first  bit  of 
temperance  work  I  ever  did.  Its  object  was  simply  to  enshrine 

(33O 


332 


First  Offers  the  Pledge. 


in  the  most  sacred  place  our  home  afforded  a  pledge  that  I  con¬ 
sidered  uniquely  sacred.  Nobody  asked  me  to  sign  it,  nor  was 
there  a  demand  because  of  exterior  temptation,  for  we  were  liv¬ 
ing  in  much  isolation  on  a  farm  three  miles  from  Janesville,  Wis., 
where  my  childhood  was  invested — not  “spent.” 

Coming  to  Evanston,  Ill.,  in  1858,  we  found  a  prohibition 
village,  the  charter  of  the  University  forbidding  the  sale  of  any 
intoxicating  liquor  as  a  beverage. 

Temperance  was  a  matter  of  course  in  this  “  Methodist 
heaven”  where  we  have  lived  from  that  day  to  this,  from  the 
time  it  had  but  a  few  hundred,  until  now  when  it  claims  seven 
thousand  inhabitants. 

About  1 863-’ 65  a  “  Temperance  Alliance  ”  was  organized  here 
by  L.  E.  Greenleaf,  then  our  leading  citizen,  the  Chicago  repre¬ 
sentative  of  the  Fairbanks’  firm,  who  have  made  St.  Johnsbury, 
Vt.,  a  model  temperance  town.  Before  that  Alliance  I  read  one 
temperance  essay  when  I  was  a  quiet  school  teacher  amid  these 
shady  groves,  and  one  evening  at  the  “Alliance  sociable”  I 
offered  the  pledge  for  the  first  time  and  was  rebuffed  by  a  now 
distinguished  literary  man,  then  a  pastor  and  editor  in  our  vil¬ 
lage.  This  was  my  first  attempt  and  his  brusque  and  almost 
angry  negative  hurt  me  to  the.  heart.  We  are  excellent  friends 
all  the  same,  and  I  do  not  believe  he  dreams  how  much  he 
pained  me,  so  little  do  we  know  what  touches  us,  and  what  we 
touch,  as  we  wend  our  way  along  life’s  crowded  street. 

In  all  my  teaching,  in  Sunday-school,  public  school  and  sem¬ 
inary,  I  never  mentioned  total  abstinence  until  the  winter  of  the 
Crusade,  taking  it  always  as  a  matter  of  course  that  my  pupils 
did  n’t  drink,  nor  did  they  as  a  rule. 

I  never  in  my  life  saw  wine  offered  in  my  own  country  but 
once,  when  Mrs.  Will  Knox,  of  Pittsburgh,  a  former  Sunday- 
school  scholar  of  my  sister  Mary,  brought  cake  and  wine  to  a 
young  lady  of  high  family  in  our  church,  and  to  me,  when  we 
went  to  call  on  her  after  her  wedding.  “Not  to  be  singular  ” 
we  touched  it  to  our  lips — but  that  was  twenty-five  years  ago, 
before  the  great  examples  burnt  into  the  Nation’s  memory  and 
conscience  by  Lucy  Webb  Hayes,  Rose  Cleveland  and  Frances 
Folsom  Cleveland. 


Better  Things. 


333 


That  was  truly  a  prophetic  innovation  at  the  White  House 
when  our  gracious  Mrs.  Hayes  replaced  the  dinner  with  its  wine¬ 
glasses  by  the  stately  and  elegant  reception.  Perhaps  while  men 
rule  the  state  in  their  government  ‘  ‘  of  the  minority,  by  the  mi¬ 
nority,  for  the  minority,”  its  highest  expression  will  .still  be  the 
dinner-table  with  its  clinking  glasses  and  plenty  of  tobacco-smoke 
afterward,  but  when  men  and  women  both  come  into  the  kingdom 
for  the  glad  new  times  that  hasten  to  be  here,  the  gustatory  nerve 
will  be  dethroned  once  and  forevermore.  For  there  are  so  many 
more  worthy  and  delightful  ways  of  investing  (not  “spending  ”) 
one’s  time  ;  there  are  so  many  better  things  to  do.  The  blos¬ 
soming  of  women  into  deeds  of  philanthropy  gives  us  a  hint  of 
the  truer  forms  of  society  that  are  to  come.  Emerson  said,  “  We 
descend  to  meet,”  because  he  claims  that  we  are  on  a  higher 
plane  when  alone  with  God  and  nature.  But  this  need  not  be 
so.  Doubtless  in  the  outworn  and  stereotyped  forms  of  society 
where  material  pleasures  still  hold  sway,  we  do  “  descend  to 
meet,”  but  when  a  philanthropic  purpose  determines  our  com¬ 
panionships,  and  leads  to  our  convenings,  then  we  climb  together 
into  purer  and  more  vital  air.  The  “coming  women,”  nay,  the 
women  who  have  come,  have  learned  the  loveliest  meanings  ol 
the  word  “society.”  Indeed,  some  of  us  like  to  call  it  “com¬ 
radeship,  ’  ’  instead,  this  interchange  of  highest  thought  and  ten- 
derest  aspiration,  in  which  the  sense  of  selfhood  is  diminished 
and  the  sense  of  otherhood  increased.  We  make  no  “formal 
calls,”  but  the  informal  ones  are  a  hundred-fold  more  pleasant. 
If  a  new  woman’s  face  appear  in  church  we  wonder  if  she  won’t 
“come  with  us”  in  the  W.  H.  M.  S.,  the  W.  F.  M.  S.,  the 
W.  C.  T.  U.,  or  some  other  dear  “  ring-around-a-rosy  ”  circle, 
formed  “for  others’  sake.”  If  new  children  sit  beside  her  in  the 
church  pew,  we  plan  to  win  them  for  our  Band  of  Hope  or  other 
philanthropic  guild  where  they  will  learn  to  find  “  society  ”  in 
nobler  forms  than  this  poor  old  world  has  ever  known  before. 
The  emptiness  of  conventional  forms  of  speech  and  action  is 
never  so  patent  as  when  contrasted  with  the  “  fullness  of  life  ” 
that  crowns  those  hearts  banded  together  to  bring  the  day  when 
all  men’s  weal  shall  be  each  man’s  care.  Wordsworth  wrote 
wearily  of 

“  The  greetings  where  no  kindness  is.” 


334 


Uses  Wine — Crusade  Begins. 


> 

From  1868  to  1870  I  studied  and  traveled  abroad,  not  tast¬ 
ing  wine  until  in  Denmark,  after  three  months’  absence,  I  was 
taken  suddenly  and  violently  ill  with  something  resembling  chol¬ 
era,  and  the  kind-faced  physician  in  Copenhagen  bending  above 
my  weakness  said  in  broken  French:  “  Mademoiselle,  you  must 
put  wine  in  the  water  you  drink  or  you  will  never  live  to  see  your 
home.”  This  prescription  I  then  faithfully  followed  for  two  years 
with  a  gradual  tendency  so  to  amend  as  to  make  it  read,  “You 
may  put  water  in  your  wine,”  and  a  leaning  toward  the  “  pure 
article,  ’  ’  especially  when  some  rich  friend  sent  for  a  costly  bottle 
of  ‘  ‘  Rudesheimer,  ’  ’  or  treated  me  to  such  a  luxury  as  ‘  ‘  Grand 
Chartreuse.”  At  a  London  dinner  where  I  was  the  guest  of 
English  friends,  and  seven  wine-glasses  stood  around  my  plate, 
I  did  not  protest  or  abstain — so  easily  does  poor  human  nature 
fall  away,  especially  when  backed  up  by  a  medical  prescription. 
But  beyond  a  flushing  of  the  cheek,  an  unwonted  readiness  at 
repartee  and  an  anticipation  of  the  dinner  hour,  unknown  to  me 
before  or  since,  I  came  under  no  thralldom,  and  returning  to  this 
blessed  “  land  of  the  wineless  dinner  table,”  my  natural  environ¬ 
ments  were  such  that  I  do  not  recall  the  use  of  intoxicants  by 
me,  “as  a  beverage,”  from  that  day  to  this. 

Thus  much  do  I  owe  to  a  Methodist  training  and  the  social 
usages  of  my  grand  old  mother  church.  Five  years  in  Oberlin, 
Ohio,  in  my  childhood,  also  did  much  to  ground  me  in  the  faith 
of  total  abstinence  and  the  general  laws  of  hygiene. 

In  1873  came  that  wonderful  Christmas  gift  to  the  world — the 
woman’s  temperance  crusade,  beginning  in  Hillsboro,  Ohio,  De¬ 
cember  23,  and  led  by  that  loyal  Methodist  woman,  Mrs.  Judge 
Thompson,  daughter  of  Gov.  Trimble  and  sister  of  Dr.  Trimble, 
the  oldest  member  of  the  last  M.  E.  General  Conference.  All 
through  that  famous  battle  winter  of  Home  versus  Saloon,  I  read 
every  word  that  I  could  get  about  the  movement,  and  my  brother, 
Oliver  A.  Willard,  then  editor  of  the  Chicago  Evening  Mail ,  gave 
favorable  and  full  reports,  saying  privately  to  me,  “  I  shall  speak 
just  as  well  of  the  women  as  I  dare  to” — a  most  characteristic 
editorial  remark,  I  have  since  thought,  though  more  frequently 
acted  out  than  uttered!  Meanwhile  it  occurred  to  me,  strange  to 
say,  for  the  first  time,  that  I  ought  to  work  for  the  good  cause  just 
where  I  was — that  everybody  ought.  Thus  I  first  received  “the 


Works  in  N.  W.  University — Crusade  in  Chicago .  335 

arrest  of  thought”  concerning  which  in  a  thousand  different 
towns  I  have  since  then  tried  to  speak,  and  I  believe  that  in  this 
simple  change  of  personal  attitude  from  passive  to  aggressive  lies 
the  only  force  that  can  free  this  land  from  the  drink  habit  and  the 
liquor  traffic.  It  would  be  like  dynamite  under  the  saloon  if,  just 
where  he  is,  the  minister  would  begin  active  work  against  it ;  if, 
just  where  he  is,  the  teacher  would  instruct  his  pupils;  if,  just 
where  he  is,  the  voter  would  dedicate  his  ballot  to  this  movement, 
and  so  on  through  the  shining  ranks  of  the  great  powers  that 
make  for  righteousness  from  father  and  mother  to  Kinder¬ 
garten  toddler,  if  each  were  this  day  doing  what  each  could,  just 
where  he  is. 

I  was  teaching  rhetoric  and  composition  to  several  hundred 
students  of  the  Northwestern  University  and  my  eyes  were 
opened  to  perceive  that  in  their  essays  they  would  be  as  well 
pleased  and  would  gain  more  good  if  such  themes  were  assigned  as 
“John  B.  Gough  ”  and  “Neal  Dow”  rather  than  “Alexander  the 
Great  ’  *  and  ‘  ‘  Plato  the  Philosopher,  ’  ’  and  that  in  their  debates 
they  would  be  at  least  as  much  enlisted  by  the  question  ‘  ‘  Is  Pro¬ 
hibition  a  Success?”  as  by  the  question,  “Was  Napoleon  a 
blessing  or  a  curse?”  So  I  quietly  sandwiched  in  these  practical 
themes  to  the  great  edification  of  my  pupils  and  with  a  notable 
increase  in  their  enthusiasm  and  punctuality.  Never  in  my 
fifteen  years  as  a  teacher  did  I  have  exercises  so  interesting  as 
in  the  Crusade  winter — 1874. 

Meanwhile  in  Chicago  the  women  of  the  Churches  were 
mightily  aroused.  They  gathered  up  in  ten  days  fourteen  thou¬ 
sand  signatures  to  a  petition  asking  that  the  Sunday  closing 
ordinance  might  be  no  longer  a  dead  letter,  and  while  some 
remained  in  old  Clark  Street  Church  to  pray,  a  procession  of 
them  led  by  Mrs.  Rev.  Moses  Smith,  moved  across  the  street  to 
the  Court  House  and  going  in  before  the  Common  Council  (the 
first  and  last  time  that  women  have  ever  ventured  into  that 
uncanny  presence),  they  offered  their  petition  and  made  their 
plea.  Their  petition  was  promptly  tabled  and  the  ordinance  for 
whose  enforcement  they  had  pleaded,  was  abrogated  then  and 
there  at  the  dictate  of  the  liquor  power  while  a  frightful  mob  col¬ 
lected  threatening  them  violence  ;  the  police  disappeared  and  only 
by  the  prompt  action  of  such  men  as  Rev.  Dr.  Arthur  Edwards  in 


336  Speaks  in  Robert  Colly  er' s  Church, 

finding  a  side  exit  for  them,  was  Chicago  saved  the  indelible 
disgrace  of  seeing  some  of  its  chief  Christian  women  mobbed  on 
th£  streets  by  the  minions  of  saloon,  gambling  den  and  haunt  of 
infamy.  All  these  things  we  read  at  Evanston  next  morning 
and  “while  we  were  musing  the  fire  burned.” 

Events  moved  rapidly.  Meetings  were  held  in  Chicago  to 
protest  against  the  great  indignity  and  to  organize  for  further 
work.  There  were  fewer  wrriters  and  speakers  among  women 
then  than  now.  Some  missionary  and  educational  addresses  of 
mine  made  within  the  two  years  past  caused  certain  Methodist 
friends  to  name  me  as  a  possible  speaker;  and  so  to  my  quiet  home 
eleven  miles  up  the  lake-shore  came  Mrs.  Charles  H.  Case,  a 
leading  Congregational  lady  of  the  city,  asking  me  to  go  and  try. 

It  is  my  nature  to  give  myself  utterly  to  whatever  work  I 
have  in  hand,  hence  nothing  less  than  my  new-born  enthusiasm 
for  the  Crusade  and  its  heroines  would  have  extorted  from  me  a 
promise  to  enter  on  this  untried  field,  but  I  agreed  to  attend  a 
noon  meeting  in  Clark  Street  Church  a  few  days  later  and  when 
the  time  came  went  from  the  recitation  room  to  the  rostrum, 
finding  the  place  so  packed  with  people  that  Mrs.  Dr.  Jutkins 
who  was  waiting  for  me  at  the  door  had  much  ado  to  get  a 
passage  made  for  us.  Ministers  were  on  the  platform  in  greater 
numbers  than  I  had  ever  seen  before  or  have  seen  since  in  that 
or  any  other  city.  They  spoke,  they  sang,  they  prayed  with  the 
fervor  of  a  Methodist  camp.  Philip  Bliss  was  at  the  organ  and 
sang  one  of  his  sweetest  songs.  For  myself,  I  was  frightened  by 
the  crowd  and  overwhelmed  by  a  sense  of  my  own  emptiness 
and  inadequacy.  What  I  said  I  do  not  know  except  that  I  was 
with  the  women  heart,  hand  and  soul,  in  this  wonderful  new 
“  Everybody’s  War.” 

Soon  after,  I  spoke  in  Robert  Collyer’s  Church  with  Mrs. 
Mary  H.  B.  Hitt,  now  president  of  the  Northwestern  Branch  of 
the  Woman’s  Foreign  Missionary  Society.  Here,  for  the  first 
and  last  time,  I  read  my  speech.  I  believe  it  was  Rev.  Dr.  E.  T. 
Chamberlain,  who  called  it  a  “  school-girl  essay  ” — and  served  it 
rght.  Robert  Colly  er  took  up  the  collection  himself,  I  remem- 
ber,  rattling  the  box  and  cracking  jokes  along  the  aisle  as  he 
moved  among  his  aristocratic  ‘  ‘  Northsiders.  ’  ’  I  went  home  blue 
enough  and  registered  a  vow  as  yet  well  nigh  unbroken,  that  I 


Goes  East  to  Spy  out  the  Land.  337 

would  never  again  appear  before  a  popular  audience  manuscript 
in  hand. 

My  next  attempt  was  in  Union  Park  Congregational  Church 
a  few  weeks  later.  Here  I  had  my  ‘  ‘  heads  ’  ’  on  paper,  but 
from  that  time  forward  I  ‘  ‘  swung  clear  ’  ’  of  the  manuscript 
crutch  and  the  “outline  ”  walking-stick.  I11  June  I  resigned  my 
position  as  Dean  in  the  Woman’s  College  and  Professor  of  ^Esthet¬ 
ics  in  the  Northwestern  University.  It  has  been  often  said  in 
my  praise  that  I  did  this  for  the  explicit  purpose  of  enlisting  in 
the  temperance  army,  but  it  is  my  painful  duty  in  this  plain,  un¬ 
varnished  tale  to  admit  that  the  reasons  upon  which  I  based  that 
act,  so  revolutionary  of  all  my  most  cherished  plans  and  pur¬ 
poses,  related  wholly  to  the  local  situation  in  the  University  itself. 
However,  having  resigned,  my  strongest  impulses  were  toward 
the  Crusade  movement  as  is  sufficiently  proved  by  the  fact  that, 
going  East  immediately,  I  sought  the  leaders  of  the  newly  formed 
societies  of  temperance  women,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  W.  H.  Boole,  Mrs. 
Helen  E.  Brown,  Mrs.  Rebecca  Collins,  Mrs.  M.  F.  Plascall  and 
others  of  New  York,  Mrs.  Mary  C.  Johnson,  Mrs.  Mary  E.  Hartt, 
H.  W.  Adams,  and  others  of  Brooklyn,  and  these  were  the  first 
persons  who  befriended  and  advised  me  in  the  unknown  field  of 
“Gospel  temperance.”  With  them  I  went  to  Jerry  McAuley’s 
Mission,  and  to  “Kit  Burns’s  Rat-Pit,  ”  and  saw  the  great  un¬ 
washed,  unkempt,  ungospeled  and  sin-scarred  multitude  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life  as  they  gathered  in  a  dingy  down -town  square 
to  hear  Dr.  Boole  preach  on  Sabbath  afternoon. 

With  several  of  these  new  friends  I  went  to  Old  Orchard 
Beach,  Me.,  where  Francis  Murphy,  a  drinking  man  and  saloon¬ 
keeper  recently  reformed,  had  called  the  first  “Gospel  Temper¬ 
ance  Camp  Meeting”  known  to  our  annals.  Here  I  met  Neal 
Dow  and  heard  the  story  of  Prohibitory  Eaw.  Here  I  saw  that 
strong,  sweet  woman,  Mrs.  E.  M.  N.  Stevens,  our  white  ribbon 
leader  in  Maine,  almost  from  then  till  now;  and  here  in  a  Portland 
hotel,  where  I  stayed  with  Mary  Hartt,  of  Brooklyn,  and  won¬ 
dered  “  where  the  money  was  to  come  from  ”  as  I  had  none,  and 
had  mother’s  expenses  and  my  own  to  meet,  I  opened  the  Bible 
lying  on  the  hotel  bureau  and  lighted  on  this  memorable  verse  : 
Psalm  37:3,  “  Trust  in  the  Lord ,  and  do  good ;  so  shalt  thou  dwell 
in  the  land ,  and  verily  thou  shalt  be  fed.  ’  ’ 


33§ 


Sees  Dr.  Dio  Lewis. 


That  was  a  turning-point  in  life  with  me.  Great  spiritual 
illumination,  unequaled  in  all  my  history  before,  had  been  vouch¬ 
safed  me  in  the  sorrowful  last  days  at  Evanston,  but  here  came 
clinching  faith  for  what  was  to  me  a  most  difficult  emergency. 

Going  to  Boston  I  now  sought  Dr.  Dio  Lewis,  for,  naturally 
enough,  I  wished  to  see  and  counsel  with  the  man  whose  words 
had  been  the  match  that  fired  the  powder  mine.  He  was  a  con¬ 
siderate  and  kind  old  gentleman  who  could  only  tell  me  o’er  and 
o’er  that  “  if  the  women  would  go  to  the  saloons  they  could  soon 
close  them  up  forever.”  But  we  had  already  passed  beyond  that 
stage, so  I  w^ent  on  to  broader  counsels.  Convinced  that  I  must 
make  my  own  experience  and  determine  my  own  destiny,  I  now 
bent  all  my  forces  to  find  what  Archimedes  wanted,  ‘  ‘  where  to 
stand  ’  ’  within  the  charmed  circle  of  the  temperance  reform. 
Chicago  must  be  my  field,  for  home  was  there  and  the  sacred  past 
with  its  graves  of  the  living  and  dead.  But  nobody  had  asked 
me  to  work  there  and  I  was  specially  in  mood  to  wait  and  watch 
for  providential  intimations.  Meanwhile  many  and  varied  offers 
came  from  the  educational  field,  tempting  in  respect  of  their  wide 
outlook  and  large  promise  of  financial  relief.  In  this  dilemma  I 
consulted  my  friends  as  to  their  sense  of  my  duty,  every  one  of 
them,  including  my  dear  mother  and  my  revered  counselor, 
Bishop  Simpson,  uniting  in  the  decision  that  he  thus  expressed  : 

‘  ‘  If  you  were  not  dependent  on  your  own  exertions  for  the  supply 
of  current  needs,  I  would  say,  be  a  philanthropist,  but  of  all  work, 
the  temperance  work  pays  least  and  you  cannot  afford  to  take  it 
up.  I  therefore  counsel  you  to  remain  in  your  chosen  and  suc¬ 
cessful  field  of  the  higher  education.” 

No  one  stood  by  me  in  the  preference  I  freely  expressed  to 
join  the  Crusade  women  except  Mrs.  Mary  A.  Livermore,  who 
sent  me  a  letter  full  of  enthusiasm  for  the  new  line  of  work  and 
predicted  success  for  me  therein.  It  is  said  that  Napoleon  was 
wont  to  consult  his  marshals  and  then  do  as  he  pleased,  but  I 
have  found  this  method  equally  characteristic  of  ordinary  mortals, 
and  certainly  it  was  the  one  I  followed  in  the  greatest  decision  of 
my  life.  While  visiting  in  Cambridge,  Mass.,  at  the  home  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  S.  Paine,  with  whom  I  had  traveled  in  Egypt 
and  Palestine,  I  received  two  letters  on  the  same  day.  The  first 
was  from  Rev.  Dr.  Van  Norman,  of  New  York,  inviting  me  to 


The  Door  Opens. 


339 


become  “Lady  Principal  ”  of  bis  elegant  school  for  young  women, 
adjoining  Central  Park,  where  I  was  to  have  just  what  and  just 
as  few  classes  as  I  chose,  and  a  salary  of  twenty-four  hundred 
dollars  per  year.  The  other  was  from  Mrs.  Louise  S.  Rounds  of 
Centenary  M.  E.  Church,  Chicago,  one  of  the  women  who  had 
gone  to  the  City  Council  on  that  memorable  night  of  March, 
1874,  and  she  wrote  in  substance  as  follows: 

“I  was  sitting  at  my  sewing  work  to-day,  pondering  the 
future  of  our  young  temperance  association.  Mrs.  O.  B.  Wilson, 
our  president,  does  all  she  can  and  has  shown  a  really  heroic 
spirit,  coming  to  Lower  Farwell  Hall  for  a  prayer-meeting  every 
day  in  the  week,  though  she  lives  a  long  distance  from  there  and 
is  old  and  feeble,  and  the  heat  has  been  intense.  She  can  not  go 
on  much  longer  and  it  has  come  to  me,  as  I  believe  from  the  Lord, 
that  you  ought  to  be  our  President.  We  are  a  little  band  with¬ 
out  money  or  experience,  but  with  strong  faith.  I  went  right 
out  to  see  some  of  our  leading  women  and  they  all  say  that  if 
you  will  agree  to  come,  there  will  be  no  trouble  about  your  elec¬ 
tion.  Please  let  me  hear  at  once.” 

I  can  not  express  the  delight  with  which  I  greeted  this  an¬ 
nouncement.  Here  was  my  ‘  ‘  open  door  ’  ’  all  unknown  and  un¬ 
sought— a  place  prepared  for  me  in  one  true  temperance  woman’s 
heart  and  a  chance  to  work  for  the  cause  that  had  in  so  short  a 
time  become  so  dear  to  me.  I  at  once  declined  the  New  York 
offer  and  very  soon  after  started  for  the  West. 

The  first  saloon  I  ever  entered  was  Sheffner’s,  on  Market 
street,  Pittsburgh,  on  my  way  home.  In  fact,  that  was  the  only 
glimpse  I  ever  personally  had  of  the  Crusade.  It  had  lingered  in 
this  dun-colored  city  well  nigh  a  year  and  when  I  visited  my  old 
friends  at  the  Pittsburgh  Female  College  I  spoke  with  enthusiasm 
of  the  Crusade,  and  of  the  women  who  were,  as  I  judged  from  a 
morning  paper,  still  engaged  in  it  here.  They  looked  upon  me 
with  astonishment  when  I  proposed  to  seek  out  those  women 
and  go  with  them  to  the  saloons,  for  in  the  two  years  that  I  had 
taught  in  Pittsburgh  these  friends  associated  me  with  the  recita¬ 
tion  room,  the  Shakspeare  Club,  the  lecture  course,  the  opera, 
indeed,  all  the  haunts  open  to  me  that  a  literary-minded  woman 
would  care  to  enter.  However,  they  were  too  polite  to  desire  to 
disappoint  me,  and  so  they  had  me  piloted  by  some  of  the  fac- 


34° 


Pittsburgh  Crusaders. 


totums  of  the  place  to  the  headquarters  of  the  Crusade,  where 
I  was  warmly  welcomed,  and  soon  found  myself  walking  down 
street  arm  in  arm  with  a  young  teacher  from  the  public  school, 
who  said  she  had  a  habit  of  coming  in  to  add  one  to  the  proces¬ 
sion  when  her  day’s  duties  were  over.  We  paused  in  front  of 
the  saloon  that  I  have  mentioned.  The  ladies  ranged  them¬ 
selves  along  the  curbstone,  for  they  had  been  forbidden  in  any¬ 
wise  to  incommode  the  passers-by,  being  dealt  with  much  more 
strictly  than  a  drunken  man  or  a  heap  of  dry-goods  boxes  would 
be.  At  a  signal  from  our  gray-haired  leader,  a  sweet-voiced 
woman  began  to  sing,  “Jesus  the  water  of  life  will  give,’’  all 
our  voices  soon  blending  in  that  sweet  song.  I  think  it  was 
the  most  novel  spectacle  that  I  recall.  There  stood  women  of 
undoubted  religious  devotion  and  the  highest  character,  most  of 
them  crowned  with  the  glory  of  gray  hairs.  Along  the  stony 
pavement  of  that  stoniest  of  cities  rumbled  the  heavy  wagons, 
many  of  them  carriers  of  beer  ;  between  us  and  the  saloon  in 
front  of  which  we  were  drawn  up  in  line,  passed  the  motley 
throng,  almost  every  man  lifting  his  hat  and  even  the  little  news¬ 
boys  doing  the  same.  It  was  American  manhood’s  tribute  to 
Christianity  and  to  womanhood,  and  it  was  significant  and  full 
of  pathos.  The  leader  had  already  asked  the  saloon-keeper  if 
we  might  enter,  and  he  had  declined,  else  the  prayer-meeting 
would  have  occurred  inside  his  door.  A  sorrowful  old  lady 
whose  only  son  had  gone  to  ruin  through  that  very  death-trap, 
knelt  on  the  cold,  moist  pavement  and  offered  a  broken-hearted 
prayer,  while  all  our  heads  were  bowed.  At  a  signal  we  moved 
on  and  the  next  saloon-keeper  permitted  us  to  enter.  I  had  no 
more  idea  of  the  inward  appearance  of  a  saloon  than  if  there  had 
been  no  such  place  on  earth.  I  knew  nothing  of  its  high,  heavily- 
corniced  bar,  its  barrels  with  the  ends  all  pointed  towards  the 
looker-on,  each  barrel  being  furnished  writh  a  faucet ;  its  shelves 
glittering  with  decanters  and  cut  glass,  its  floors  thickly  strewn 
with  saw-dust,  arid  here  and  there  a  round  table  with  chairs  —  nor 
of  its  abundant  fumes,  sickening  to  healthful  nostrils.  The  tall, 
stately  lady  who  led  us,  placed  her  Bible  on  the  bar  and  read  a 
psalm,  whether  hortatory  or  imprecatory,  I  do  not  remember,  but 
the  spirit  of  these  crusaders  was  so  gentle,  I  think  it  must  have 
been  the  former.  Then  we  sang  “  Rock  of  Ages  ”  as  I  thought  I 


Prayer  in  a  Saloon . 


34i 


had  never  heard  it  sung  before,  with  a  tender  confidence  to  the 
height  of  which  one  does  not  rise  in  the  easy-going,  regulation 
prayer-meeting,  and  then  one  of  the  older  women  whispered  to  me 
softly  that  the  leader  wished  to  know  if  I  would  pray.  It  was 
strange,  perhaps,  but  I  felt  not  the  least  reluctance,  and  kneeling 
on  that  saw-dust  floor,  with  a  group  of  earnest  hearts  around  me, 
and  behind  them,  filling  every  corner  and  extending  out  into  the 
street,  a  crowd  of  unwashed,  unkempt,  hard-looking  drinking 
men,  I  was  conscious  that  perhaps  never  in  my  life,  save  beside 
my  sister  Mary’s  dying  bed,  had  I  prayed  as  truly  as  I  did  then. 
This  was  my  Crusade  baptism.  The  next  day  I  went  on  to  the 
West  and  within  a  week  had  been  made  president  of  the  Chicago 
W.  C.  T.  U. 


\ 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE  OPENING  WAY. 

No  words  can  adequately  characterize  the  change  wrought  in 
my  life  by  the  decision  I  have  chronicled.  Instead  of  peace  I  was 
to  participate  in  war  ;  instead  of  the  sweetness  of  home,  nevermore 
dearly  loved  than  I  had  loved  it,  I  was  to  become  a  wmnderer  on 
the  face  of  the  earth  ;  instead  of  libraries  I  was  to  frequent  public 
halls  and  railway  cars  ;  instead  of  scholarly  and  cultured  men 
I  was  to  see  the  dregs  of  saloon  and  gambling  house  and  haunt 
of  shame.  But  women  who  were  among  the  fittest  gospel 
survivals  wrere  to  be  my  comrades  ;  little  children  were  to  be 
gathered  from  near  and  from  far  in  the  Loyal  Temperance 
Legion,  and  whoever  keeps  such  company  should  sing  a  psalm  of 
joy,  solemn  as  it  is  sweet.  Hence  I  have  felt  that  great  promotion 
came  to  me  when  I  was  counted  worthy  to  be  a  worker  in  the 
organized  Crusade  for  “God  and  Home  and  Native  Land.” 
Temporary  differences  may  seem  to  separate  some  of  us  for 
awhile,  but  I  believe  with  all  my  heart,  that  farther  on  we  shall 
be  found  walking  once  more  side  by  side.  In  this  spirit  let  me 
try  to  tell  a  little  of  our  story. 

One  day  in  September,  1874,  a.  few  ladies  assembled  in  one 
of  the  Young  Men’s  Christian  Association  prayer  rooms  adjoin¬ 
ing  Farwell  Hall,  and  elected  me  their  president.  One  of  them 
came  to  me  at  the  close  of  the  meeting  and  said,  “  We  have  no 
money,  but  wre  will  try  to  get  some  if  you  will  tell  us  your 
expectations  as  to  salary.”  “Ah,”  thought  I,  “here  is  my 
coveted  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  faith,”  and  I  quietly  re¬ 
plied,  “  Oh,  that  will  be  all  right !  ”  and  the  dear  innocent  went 
her  way  thinking  that  some  rich  friend  had  supplied  the  neces¬ 
sary  help.  It  was  known  that  my  generous  comrade^  Miss  Kate 
A.  Jackson,  had  taken  me  abroad  for  a  stay  of  over  twTo  years,  so 
the  ladies  naturally  concluded  that  she  was  once  more  the  good 
fair}7  behind  the  scenes.  But  this  was  not  true.  She  had  not 
approved  my  entrance  upon  temperance  work.  She  was  a  thou¬ 
sand  miles  away  and  knew  nothing  of  my  needs. 

(342) 


Odd  *  *  Faith  Test .  ’  ’ 


343 


Having  always  been  my  faithful  friend  I  knew  she  would  help 
me  in  this  crisis,  but  I  chose  not  to  tell  her,  for  I  had  a  theory 
and  now  was  the  time  to  put  it  to  the  test.  To  my  mind 
there  was  a  missing  link  in  the  faith  of  George  Muller,  Dorothea 
Trubel  and  other  saintly  men  and  women  who  ‘  ‘  spoke  and  let 
their  wants  be  known  ’  ’  by  means  of  annual  announcements, 
reports,  etc.,  so  I  said  to  myself,  “I  am  just  simply  going  to  pray, 
to  work  and  to  trust  God.”  So,  with  no  financial  backing  what¬ 
ever,  I  set  about  my  work,  opened  the  first  “Headquarters” 
known  to  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  annals — the 
Young  Men’s  Christian  Association  giving  me  a  room  rent  free  ; 
organized  committees  for  the  few  lines  of  work  then  thought  of  by 
us  ;  started  a  daily  three  o’clock  prayer-meeting  at  which  signing 
the  pledge  and  seeking  the  Lord  behind  the  pledge  were  constant 
factors ;  sent  articles  and  paragraphs  to  the  local  press,  having 
called  upon  every  editor  in  the  city  and  asked  his  help  or  at  least 
his  tolerance;  addressed  Sunday-schools,  ministers  and  mass- 
meetings  and  once  in  awhile  made  a  dash  into  some  town  or 
village,  where  I  spoke,  receiving  a  collection  which  represented 
financially  “my  little  all.”  I  remember  that  the  first  of  these 

• 

collections  was  at  Princeton  in  October  of  1874  and  amounted  to 
seven  dollars,  for  I  had  small  reputation  and  audiences  in  propor¬ 
tion.  Meanwhile  my  mother,  who  owned  her  little  home  free 
from  incumbrance,  held  the  fort  at  “Rest  Cottage,”  Evanston, 
dismissed  her  “  help  ”  and  lived  in  strict  seclusion  and  economy. 

I  was  entertained  by  different  ladies  in  the  city  or  was  boarded  at 
a  nominal  figure  by  my  kind  friend  Mrs.  William  Wheeler,  one 
of  the  truest  of  my  coadjutors.  Many  a  time  I  went  without  my 
noonday  lunch  down  town  because  I  had  no  money  with  which 
to  buy,  and  many  a  mile  did  I  walk  because  I  had  not  the  pre¬ 
requisite  nickel  for  street-car  riding.  But  I  would  not  mention 
money  or  allow  it  named  to  me.  My  witty  brother  Oliver,  then 
editor  of  the  Chicago  Mail ,  who  with  all  his  cares,  was  helping 
mother  from  his  slender  purse,  and  who  had  learned  my  secret 
from  her,  said,  “Frank,  your  faith-method  is  simply  a  challenge 
to  the  Almighty.  You’ve  put  a  chip  on  your  shoulder  and  dared 
Omnipotence  to  knock  it  off.  ’  ’  But  for  several  months  I  went  on 
in  this  way  and  my  life  never  had  a  happier  season.  For  the  first 
time  I  knew  the  gnawings  of  hunger  whereat  I  used  to  smile  and 


344 


“  Owns  Chicago .” 


say  to  myself,  as  I  elbowed  my  way  among  the  wretched  people 
to  whom  I  was  sent,  “I’m  a  better  friend  than  you  dream  ;  I  know 
more  about  you  than  you  think,  for,  bless  God,  I’m  hungry  too  !  ’’ 

When  in  Italy  I  had  been  greatly  moved  by  the  study  of  St. 
Francis  d’  Assisi,  whose  city  I  had  visited  for  this  purpose,  a 
nobleman  who  gave  his  life  to  the  poor  and  who  was  so  beloved 
of  Christ  that  legends  say  he  was  permitted  to  receive  the  stig¬ 
mata. 

Thinking  of  him,  my  small  privations  seemed  so  ridiculously 
trivial  that  I  was  eager  to  suffer  something  really  worthy  of  a 
disciple  for  humanity’s  sweet  sake.  I  had  some  pretty  rings,  given 
me  in  other  days  by  friends  and  pupils,  these  I  put  off  and  never 
have  resumed  them,  also  my  watch-chain,  for  I  would  have  no 
striking  contrast  between  these  poor  people  and  myself.  To 
share  my  last  dime  with  some  famished  looking  man  or  woman 
was  a  pure  delight.  Indeed,  my  whole  life  has  not  known  a  more 
lovely  period.  I  communed  wTith  God  ;  I  dwelt  in  the  spirit ;  this 
world  had  nothing  to  give  me,  nothing  to  take  away.  My  friend 
Kate  came  back  from  the  Bast  and  I  told  her  all  about  it.  “Why, 
you  are  poor  as*poverty,”  she  said  with  pitying  amazement. 
“True,”  I  replied,  “  I  haven’t  a  cent  in  the  world,  but  all  the 
same  I  own  Chicago,”  and  it  was  a  literal  fact;  the  sense  of  uni¬ 
versal  ownership  was  never  so  strong  upon  my  spirit  before  or 
since  that  blessed  time.  “  I’m  the  Child  of  a  King”  was  the  in¬ 
most  song  of  my  soul. 

I  find  this  record  in  a  little  pocket  note-book  of  the  time  : 

Came  back  to  the  city  from  my  evening  temperance  meeting  at - ; 

almost  froze  getting  from  Lake  Shore  depot  to  my  office — difi  freeze  indeed. 
No  women  in  the  streets,  everything  stark  and  dead.  Found  lovely  Mrs.  F. 
J.  Barnes  and  faithful  sister  Wirt  trying  to  help  three  poor  fellows  who  had 
come  in,  learning  their  stories  and  trying  to  do  them  good.  We  have  more 
“cases,”  histories,  crises,  calamitous  distress  revealed  to  us  than  could  be 
told  in  an  octavo  or  helped  out  by  a  millionaire.  Verily,  we  are  in  the  “real 
work.”  How  good  it  is  to  watch  the  men  grow  clean  and  shaved  and  bright¬ 
ened  ;  the  outward  sign  of  an  inward  grace.  This  work  is  by  far  the  most 
blessed  of  my  life.  My  “Gospel  talks”  are  in  demand  to  an  extent  that 

surprises  me.  Dr.  - wishes  me  to  conduct  meetings  right  along  in  his 

church,  Dr. - invites  me  to - church,  and  so  does - .  If  I  were  fit  for 

it,  how  this  work  wTould  enthrall  my  heart,  as  no  other  ever  could — as  I  used 
secretly  to  wish,  with  hopeless  pain,  it  might,  but  thought  it  never  must  since 
I  “was  but  a  woman.”  Engagements  crowd  upon  me  for  Temperance,  but 


(FROM  a  PHOTOGRAPH  OF  a  BAS  RELIEF.) 


Note-Book  of  Experience. 


345 


still  more  for  “  Evangelical  ”  talks,  and  persuasions  come  to  me  from  friends 
to  abandon  the  first  and  devote  myself  to  church  work.  But  I  can  not  per¬ 
ceive,  I  can  not  feel  as  yet— and  hope  I  never  may— that  a  cause  so  forlorn 
as  that  of  temperance  should  be  deserted  by  a  single  adherent.  I’m  strong 
in  the  faith  and  believe  that  I  am  in  the  path  of  duty. 

Our  Daily  Gospel  Meeting  in  airless,  sunless  Lower  Farwell  Hall  grows 
constantly  in  interest ;  the  place  is  two  thirds  full  of  men  who  never  go  to 
church  and  who  are  deep  in  sin.  Christian  men  come  in  to  help  us  and  a  few 
ladies,  perhaps  one  to  every  eight  or  ten  men.  This  last  is  the  saddening 
feature,  but  only  temporary  I  feel  sure.  Daily,  many  ask  for  prayers  and 
ever  so  many  sign  the  pledge.  My  strongest  intellectual  thirst  is  to  know 
more  of  the  Word.  Who  is  sufficient  for  these  things — these  hours  when 
destiny  hangs  trembling  in  the  uncertain  balance  of  the  human  will  ? 

Did  n’t  go  to  the  Conversazione  on  Oriental  and  Greek  Thought,  though 

General  B - urged  me.  I  can  not  serve  my  intellect  at  the  expense  of  my 

Master,  and  our  church  prayer-meeting  comes  at  the  same  hour.  Went  out 
to  Evanston  to  see  my  dear  seventy-year-old  mother,  finding  her  blithe  as  a 
lass  and  active  as  a  cricket. 

I  called  on  O.  C.  Gibbs  of  the  City  Relief  Committee  and  asked  him  to 
post  notice  of  our  prayer-meetings  and  talked  to  him  of  my  grief  over  the 
homeless,  dinnerless  condition  of  men  whom  I  met  daily  and  proposed  a 
Workhouse  where  they  could  render  an  equivalent  for  food  and  lodging. 
He  looked  at  me  in  his  sad,  thoughtful  way  and  said:  “Ten  years  ago  I 
believed  that  I  could  solve  the  problem  of  the  unemployed,  that  it  was  a  sin 
and  shame  for  them  to  suffer.  I  investigated  and  studied  the  whole  question 
carefully.  It  will  seem  strange  to  you,  but  now  I  have  no  remedy  to  offer. 
Their  own  volitions  have  brought  them  where  they  are,  others  surrounded 
just  as  they  were,  have  pushed  on  to  good  conditions  ;  these  have  not,  what 
can  we  do? ”  ‘ 

Found  the  manager  of  the  Museum  waiting  to  see  me  and  to  invite  our 
Union  to  free  seats  at  the  “  new  and  highly  moral  drama,  ‘  Three  Days  in  a 
Man  Trap,  ’  a  strictly  temperance  play  !  ”  He  seemed  to  think  it  so  desirable 
for  us,  so  “just  the  thing,”  and  was  apparently  so  much  in  earnest  that  I 
had  much  ado  to  make  my  voice  sound  friendly,  out  of  a  world  of  thoughts 
so  different  from  his  own.  But  I  did  the  best  I  could,  thanked  him  for  his 
courtesy  and  said  we  had  opinions  widely  at  variance,  that  my  own  experi¬ 
ence  was  that  my  life  was  far  less  helpful  when  I  used  to  go  to  places  of  the 
sort,  that  I  needed  all  my  time  for  higher  things  and  I  believed  our  ladies 
felt  the  same. 

- is  converted  and,  sure  and  swift  “  fruit  of  the  Spirit,”  has  made  up 

with  his  wTife  to  whom  he  had  not  spoken  in  a  fortnight,  and  has  asked  me 
to  forgive  him  for  his  inconsiderate  language.  O  “  heart  of  flesh!”  how 
gentle  and  easy  to  be  entreated  ;  but  the  “heart  of  stone,”  how  hard  and  cold 
and  self-absorbed  !  What  is  the  matter  with  me  is  that  I’d  like  to  go  out  by 
myself,  looking  only  to  God,  and  preach  the  unsearchable  riches  of  Christ ! 


346 


Chicago  Life. 


When  Bro. - wrote  me  that  offer  to  be  editor  of  a  New  York  temperance 

paper,  it  did  n’t  stir  my  soul  a  bit,  but  this  little  Gospel  meeting,  wdiere 
wicked  men  have  wTept  and  prayed  and  said  they  would  see  Jesus — it  thrills 
me  through  and  through. 

Went  to  hear  Nathan  Sheppard  on  George  Eliot.  Don’t  believe  I’ll 
ever  attend  another  literary  lecture.  It  was  keen,  brilliant,  flinty  as  flint,  cold 
as  an  icicle.  Poor,  grand  George  Eliot,  who  sees  no  light  beyond  the  sepul¬ 
cher,  who  thinks  we  are  snuffed  out  like  candles  !  Dear  me,  it  is  n’t  even 
aesthetic,  that !  As  a  cute  critic  said,  purely  from  an  artistic  point  of  view 
our  poor  old  Religion  has  some  notions  that  ought  to  commend  it  to  the 
attention  of  cultivated  personages. 

Dr. - discourages  me  what  she  can  in  my  work  and  says  “  a  cheaper 

woman  would  do  it  just  as  well.”  Ah  my  dear  friend,  is  it  then  “cheap” 
work  to  be  God’s  instrument  in  delivering  men  from  voluntary  insanity  ? — to 
bring  them  back  to  themselves  ?  to  help  enthrone  the  conscience  in  a  human 

breast?  A  letter  readjust  after  Dr. - ’s,  from  a  mother  in  Fishkill,  N.  Y., 

thanking  us  for  helping  her  wayward  son,  was  antidote  enough,  if  I  had 
needed  one. 

Heard  Rev.  George  Coan,  newly  returned  from  Persia.  If  I  were  younger 
I  believe  I’d  be  a  missionary. 

Went  home  to  mother,  read  to-day’s  mail  aloud  to  her,  in  which  she  was 
greatly  interested.  Found  her  well  up  in  the  events  of  the  day — President’s 
message  to  Congress  on  Louisiana,  Collyer’s  sermon  on  Gerrit  Smith,  etc. 

Told  her  of  Dr.  - ’s  invitation  to  me  to  “preach  ”  for  him  and  how  glad 

I  was  the  way  was  opening  so  for  me  to  speak  of  the  glad  tidings,  and  she, 
too,  rejoiced. 

I  wonder  what  the  “  Women’s  Congress”  will  think  about  my  plan  of 
Literary  Clubs  for  women. 

In  p.  m.  studied  my  Bible  and  thought  about  “my  sermon,”  In  evening 
went  to  Rail  Road  Chapel  and  heard  Captain  Black,  a  Christian  lawyer, 
preach  a  simple  Gospel  sermon.  We  are  to  have  temperance  meetings  here 
if  the  South  Side  ladies  will  rally.  It  is  an  intemperate  neighborhood,  the 
red  light  “  danger  signal  ”  gleams  from  scores  of  saloons. 

January  18,  1875. — A  hurried  p.  m. — large  prayer-meeting,  twenty  drink¬ 
ing  men  present,  only  four  ladies  !  Dear  Mrs.  Barnes,  of  New  York,  my  little 
Quakeress,  is  my  main- stay.  I  don’t  know  what  I  could  do  without  her.  I 
should  often  be  here  alone  with  the  office  full  of  men.  This  would  n’t  worry 
me,  to  be  sure,  save  that  it  is  better  to  have  a  little  help.  I’ve  given  up 
expecting  the  ladies  of  Chicago  to  come  to  the  rescue  at  present.  They  wTill 
sometime — in  the  Lord’s  own  good  time.  For  me,  my  hands  are  overrunning 
full  of  Christian  work,  and  that’s  enough.  Large  meeting — one  poor  fellow, 
gray-headed,  washed-out  looking,  hands  shaking  with  effects  of  drink,  came 
in  for  the  first  time.  He  was  once  a  church-member  and  promising  business 
man  of  the  city,  but  is  now  at  ebb-tide. 

January  19. — Well,  last  night  I  preached — the  word  grates  somewhat. 


Mother  Protests. 


347 


but  has  no  business  to — at  Ada  Street  M.  E.  Church  (Dr.  McKeown’s).  Text, 
“  Lord,  what  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do  ?  ”  Had  a  few  “  heads  ”  on  a  slip  of 
paper.  Took  my  little  Bible  that  father  gave  me,  and  just  talked.  I  greatly 
regretted  to  go  to  my  first  most  sacred  service  from  the  lightness  and  repartee 
of  the  pleasant  parlor  at  Mrs.  N - ’s  and  felt  ill-attuned  at  first.  But  per¬ 

haps  that  was  forgiven  ;  anyhow  I  was  in  earnest  and  greatly  enjoyed  the 
evening,  and  my  large  audience  was  thoughtful.  O  God !  can  I  live  near 
enough  to  Thee  to  dare  tell  the  good  news  to  Humanity  ? 

January  25. — Have  spoken  again  at  Ada  Street,  with  more  efficiency  and 
spirit.  Subject:  “ Thou  requirest  not  sacrifice,  else  would  I  give  it.”  My 
friend,  Kate  Jackson,  says  I’m  better  as  a  gospel  talker  than  anything  else. 
O  I  wish  I  might  be  one;  that  I  enough  communed  with  God  ! 

After  several  months  invested  in  this  fashion,  I  went  to  speak 
one  night  at  Freeport,  a  few  hours’  ride  from  the  city;  became  ill 
from  overwork,  addressed  my  audience  while  in  a  burning  fever, 
came  home  to  mother,  and  went  to  bed  with  inflammatory  rheu¬ 
matism.  I  asked  her  to  send  for  our  family  physician,  then  Dr. 
Jewell,  of  sainted  memory,  the  man  who  had  prayed  at  my  bed¬ 
side  six  months  before,  when  I  was  sick  with  heartache  at  leav¬ 
ing  my  dear  college.  “No,”  said  that  Spartan  matron,  “You 
are  going  by  faith — you  do  not  need  a  doctor.  ’  ’ 

The  truth  wras  she  always  believed  that  she  best  knew  wThat 
her  children  needed,  whether  they  were  well  or  ill.  “Now  I 
want  you  to  listen  to  your  mother,”  she  quietly  continued,  “I 
believe  in  faith  as  much  as  you  do,  but  you  have,  with  pure 
intention,  yet  ignorantly,  flown  in  the  face  of  Providence.  Those 
good  women  spoke  to  you  about  a  maintenance  on  the  very  day 
they  chose  you  president.  That  was  your  Heavenly  Father’s 
kind  provision,  and  you  turned  away  from  it  and  dictated  to  Him 
the  method  of  His  care.  The  laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire;  they 
that  preach  the  gospel  shall  live  by  the  gospel ;  this  is  the  law 
and  the  prophets  from  St.  Paul  down  to  you.  God  is  n’t  going 
to  start  loaves  of  bread  flying  down  chimney  nor  set  the  fire 
going  in  my  stove  without  fuel.  I  shall  soon  see  the  bottom  of 
my  flour  barrel  and  coal  bin.  You  are  out  at  the  elbows,  down  at 
the  heel,  and  down  sick,  too.  Now  write  to  those  temperance 
ladies  a  plain  statement  of  facts,  and  tell  them  that  you  have 
made  the  discovery  that  God  works  by  means  and  they  may  help 
you  if  they  like.” 

My  mother’s  words  were  a  needed  revelation.  I  wrota  a 


34^ 


Mrs.  Matilda  B.  Carse. 


letter  to  my  dear  women.  Later  on  I  learned  that  they  cried 
over  it  in  Executive  Committee.  That  night  a  tender  note  came 
from  them  with  a  $100  check  inclosed,  and  my  “faith  test”  was 
met  upon  the  Heavenly  Father’s  basis,  not  upon  the  one  I  had 
prescribed  for  Him.  But  I  enjoyed  that  episode  and  shall  be  the 
better  and  the  richer  for  it  evermore. 

One  of  my  best  and  brightest  coadjutors  from  the  first  has 
been  Mrs.  Matilda  B.  Carse,  of  Chicago,  the  chief  financial 
woman  of  our  white  ribbon  host.  Her  first  money-raising  vent¬ 
ure  consisted  in  getting  a  hundred  men  to  give  ten  dollars  apiece 
to  keep  me  going  when  my  blissful  episode  of  impecuniosity  was 
over.  Rev.  Dr.  J.  O.  Peck,  “of  ours,”  was  the  first  name  she 
secured.  From  that  day  to  this  she  has  been  on  the  war-path, 
financially,  raising  hundreds  of  thousands  for  the  Foundlings’ 
Home,  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  with  its  huge 
cheap  Lodging  House  for  men,  its  “Anchorage  Mission”  for 
women,  its  Gospel  Meeting,  Kindergarten,  Temperance  Restau¬ 
rant  and  other  philanthropic  enterprises,  until  now  she  has  set 
herself  with  perfect  equanimity  to  collect  eight  hundred  thou¬ 
sand  dollars  for  the  building  of  a  Woman’s  Temperance  Temple 
in  Chicago,  to  serve  as  the  Headquarters  for  our  National  Wom¬ 
an’s  Christian  Temperance  Union,  also  for  the  great  “Woman’s 
Temperance  Publication  Association  ”  founded  by  her,  and  which 
printed  in  1888  over  sixty  million  pages  of  temperance  litera¬ 
ture.  From  this  Temple  she  expects  to  derive,  beyond  all 
expenses,  over  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  a  year  rental,  with 
which  our  work  will  be  still  more  widely  carried  on. 

But  to  return.  A  few  weeks  after  my  election  as  President 
of  the  Chicago  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  (October 
8,  1874),  the  “Woman’s  Congress”  met  in  Farwell  Hall,  Chi¬ 
cago,  Mrs.  Livermore  presiding.  It  was  her  wish  to  have  me 
speak  upon  the  temperance  question.  For  years  I  had  been 
vice-president  of  the  organization  for  Illinois  and  had  prepared 
a  paper  read  at  the  New  York  “Congress”  on  the  “Higher 
Education  of  Women.  ”  But  in  my  new  character  I  was  less 
welcome  and  only  by  taking  a  brave  stand  did  Mrs.  Livermore 
succeed  in  having  me  recognized.  I  wish  here  to  record  my 
sincere  appreciation  of  her  loyalty  to  the  great  cause  and  to  one 
of  its  “  new  beginners  ”  at  a  time  when  her  championship  before 


Clans  Rally  at  Cleveland. 


349 


the  most  intellectual  body  of  women  then  existing,  was  particu¬ 
larly  valuable  to  both. 

That  same  autumn  of  1874  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temper¬ 
ance  Union  of  Chicago  sent  me  as  a  delegate  to  the  Illinois 
Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  Convention,  called  by 
Mrs.  J.  F.  Willing,  at  Bloomington,  where  she  was  then  professor 
in  the  college.  As  a  hundred  of  us  marched,  two  by  two,  along 
the  street,  under  cover  of  the  stars,  I  felt  that  we  were  marching 
to  victory.  My  life  had  hardly  known  a  more  exalted  moment. 
I  seemed  to  see  the  end  from  the  beginning  ;  and  when  one  has 
done  that,  nothing  has  power  to  discourage  or  to  daunt.  Of  this 
meeting  I  was  made  secretary  (my  first  appearance  in  the  state 
arena),  Mrs.  Willing  being  elected  president.  A  few  weeks  later, 
(November  18,  19,  20,  1874),  the  great  National  Woman’s  Tem¬ 
perance  Convention,  which  had  been  called  by  a  committee  formed 
at  Chautauqua,  of  which  Mrs.  Willing,  Mrs.  Emily  Huntington 
Miller  and  Mrs.  Mattie  McClellan  Brown  were  leaders,  convened 
in  Cleveland,  Ohio.  Its  object  was  to  preserve  the  fruits  of  Cru¬ 
sade  victory — indeed,  it  may  be  justly  called  the  sober  second 
thought  of  that  unparalleled  uprising.  Women  from  eighteen 
states  were  gathered. 

“  Hear  the  call,  O  gird  your  armor  on  ; 

Grasp  the  Spirit’s  mighty  sword,” 

was  their  stirring  battle-cry.  Something  divine  was  in  the  air — 
a  breath  of  the  new  dispensation.  Introductions  were  at  a  dis¬ 
count — we  shook  hands  all  round  and  have  been  comrades  ever 
since.  Here  I  first  met  Mrs.  Annie  Wittenmeyer,  Mrs.  Mary  T. 
Uathrap,  Mrs.  J.  Ellen  Foster,  Mrs.  Governor  Wallace,  Mother 
Stewart  and  Mrs.  Judge  Thompson,  leader  of  the  first  praying- 
band  and  the  “  mother  of  us  all.” 

Very  few  could  make  a  speech  at  that  early  period — we 
gave  speechlets  instead,  off-hand  talks  of  from  five  to  fifteen  min¬ 
utes.  The  daily  prayer-meetings  were  times  of  refreshing  from 
the  presence  of  the  Lord.  There  was  no  waiting,  everything  was 
fresh,  tender  and  spontaneous.  Such  singing  I  never  heard  ; 
the  Bible  exposition  was  bread  to  the  soul.  Everybody  said  it 
“was  n’t  a  bit  like  men’s  conventions.”  “  And  it’s  all  the  better 
for  that,”  was  the  universal  verdict. 


350 


A  Larger  Field. 


As  I  sat  quiet,  but  observant,  in  my  delegation,  Mary  T. 
Uathrap  sent  me  a  note  to  this  purport  :  “  We  Michigan  women 

are  going  to  nominate  you  for  corresponding  secretary  of  this 
national  society.” 

Now  it  is  my  nature  to  accept  every  offer  that  means  a  wider 
outlook  from  a  higher  point  of  observation,  and  my  heart  sprang 
up  to  meet  this  kindly  call.  But  the  heavenly  forces  had  me 
pretty  well  in  hand  just  then.  I  had  already  been  nominated  for 
President  by  Mrs.  M.  B.  Reese,  of  Ohio,  and  had  promptly  de¬ 
clined,  with  the  statement  that  I  was  but  a  raw  recruit,  and 
preferred  to  serve  in  the  ranks  ;  when  they  had  proved  me,  I 
would  be  at  command  for  anything  the}r  wished  ;  but,  though  I 
met  this  overture  from  my  new-found  friend,  Mrs.  Uatlirap,  with 
a  similar  refusal,  her  eloquence  prevailed,  and  I  became  first 
mate  on  our  newly  launched  life-boat  of  reform,  under  the  cap¬ 
taincy  of  Sister  Wittenmeyer. 

The  only  resolution  written  by  me,  so  far  as  I  can  now 
recall,  was  this  : 

“  Resolved ,  That,  recognizing  that  our  cause  is,  and  will  be,  combated 
by  mighty,  determined  and  relentless  forces,  we  will,  trusting  in  Him  who 
is  the  Prince  of  Peace,  meet  argument  with  argument,  misjudgment  with 
patience,  denunciation  with  kindness,  and  all  our  difficulties  and  dangers 
with  prayer.” 

There  was  some  debate  about  inserting  the  word  ‘  ‘  Christian’  ’ 
in  the  name  of  our  society,  the  point  being  made  that  to  leave  it 
out  would  broaden  and  thus  benefit  the  platform,  but  then,  as 
always  since,  the  Convention  said  by  its  deeds,  “  We  are  not  here 
to  seek  a  large  following,  but  to  do  what  we  think  right.” 

Returning  to  Chicago  with  the  duties  of  national  secretary 
upon  me,  I  found  my  generous  comrades  saying,  “  Go  right 
ahead  as  our  local  president,  and  we  will  pay  you  a  hundred  dol¬ 
lars  a  month  and  give  you  time  to  work  for  the  National  in  the 
bargain.”  So  I  struggled  on,  blessed  with  good  health,  blithe 
heart  and  warm  co-operation.  The  summer  of  1875  I  spent  with 
Mrs.  Wittenmeyer  at  Ocean  Grove,  where  our  pens  flew  from 
early  morn  till  dewy  eve  in  the  interest  of  the  National  Woman’s 
Christian  Temperance  Union.  Here  she  wrote  her  valuable 
‘‘History  of  the  Woman’s  Crusade.”  By  Dr.  Vincent’s  invitation, 
I  spoke  at  Chautauqua,  and  with  Mrs.  Wittenmeyer  visited  several 


Declares  for  Woman’s  Ballot . 


35i 


summer  camps  in  New  England  and  the  Middle  States.  After  a 
second  winter’s  work  in  Chicago,  during  which  I  prepared 
“Hints  and  Helps  for  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance 
Union,”  I  made  a  trip  through  Ohio,  and  while  in  Columbus 
for  a  Sunday  engagement,  remained  at  home  in  the  morning  for 
Bible  study  and  prayer.  Upon  my  knees  alone,  in  the  room  of 
my  hostess,  who  was  a  veteran  Crusader,  there  was  borne  in  upon 
my  mind,  as  I  believe,  from  loftier  regions,  the  declaration,  “You 
are  to  speak  for  woman’s  ballot  as  a  weapon  of  protection  to  her 
home  and  tempted  loved  ones  from  the  tyranny  of  drink,  ”  and 
then  for  the  first  and  only  time  in  my  life,  there  flashed  through 
my  brain  a  complete  line  of  argument  and  illustration — the  same 
that  I  used  a  few  months  later  before  the  Woman’s  Congress,  in 
St.  George’s  Hall,  Philadelphia,  when  I  first  publicly  avowed  my 
faith  in  the  enfranchisement  of  women.  I  at  once  wrote  Mrs. 
Wittenmeyer,  with  whom  I  had  always  been  in  perfect  accord, 
telling  her  I  wished  to  speak  on  ‘  ‘  The  Home  Protection  Ballot  ’  ’ 
at  the  International  Temperance  Convention  of  Women,  then 
being  planned  by  us  as  a  Centennial  feature  of  the  movement. 
She  replied  mildly,  but  firmly,  declining  to  permit  the  subject  to 
be  brought  forward.  We  had  our  convention  in  the  Academy  of 
Music,  Philadelphia,  and  an  International  Woman’s  Christian 
Temperance  Union  was  organized,  with  Mrs.  Margaret  Parker,  of 
England,  as  its  president,  and  Mrs.  J.  Ellen  Foster,  of  Iowa,  sec¬ 
retary,  but  the  time  was  not  ripe  for  such  a  movement  and  it 
advanced  but  a  short  distance  beyond  the  name  and  letter- head. 
I  spoke,  but  not  upon  the  theme  I  would  have  chosen,  and  Mrs. 
Mary  A.  Livermore  who  was  present  and  to  whom  I  offered  to 
give  my  time,  so  greatly  have  I  always  honored  and  admired 
her,  was  not  allowed  to  speak,  because  of  her  progressive  views 
upon  the  woman  question. 

At  the  Newark  National  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance 
Union  Convention,  held  that  Autumn  (1876),  disregarding  the 
earnest,  almost  tearful  pleading  of  my  friends,  I  repeated  my 
“  .suffrage  speech  ’’with  added  emphasis.  The  great  church  was 
packed  to  the  doors;  Mrs.  Wittenmeyer  was  on  the  platform, 
Mrs.  Allen  Butler,  a  Presbyterian  lady  of  Syracuse,  then  presi¬ 
dent  of  New  York  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union,  pre¬ 
sided.  I  remember  her  quoting  at  the  outset  an  anecdote  of  Mrs. 


352 


Mrs.  Governor  Wallace. 


Lathrap’s  about  a  colored  man  in  the  war  who  saw  a  Confederate 
boat  approaching  an  island  where  several  Union  soldiers  of  whom 
he  was  one  were  just  landing,  whereupon  they  all  lay  flat  in  their 
canoe,  colored  man  and  all,  until  he  jumped  up,  saying,  “  Some¬ 
body’s  got  to  be  shot  at  and  it  might  as  well  be  me,”  pushed  the 
boat  from  shore,  and  fell  pierced  by  bullets,  but  saved  the  day  for 
his  comrades.  I  then  gave  the  people  my  argument,  and  though 
I  could  but  feel  the  strong  conservatism  of  an  audience  of  Chris¬ 
tian  women,  in  New  Jersey  in  1876,  I  felt  far  more  strongly  the 
undergirdings  of  the  Spirit.  At  the  close  I  was  applauded  be¬ 
yond  my  hopes.  The  dignified  chairman  came  forward  saying, 
“  I  wish  it  clearly  understood  that  the  speaker  represents  herself 
and  not  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union,  for  we  do  not 
propose  to  trail  our  skirts  through  the  mire  of  politics.  ”  These 
words  were  received  in  silence,  and  I  knew  then  that  the  hearts 
of  the  women  were  with  the  forward  movement.  As  we  left  the 
hall  my  honored  chief  whispered  regretfully,  “  You  might  have 
been  a  leader,  but  now  you’ll  be  only  a  scout.  ” 

It  is  true  that  at  the  Cincinnati  convention,  held  in  St.  Paul’s 
M.  K.  Church  just  one  year  previous,  Mrs.  Governor  Wallace  of 
Indiana  (the  original  of  that  famous  mother  in  Gen.  Lew  Wal¬ 
lace’s  “Ben  Hur”),  had  secured  the  adoption  of  a  resolution 
favorable  to  submitting  the  question  of  prohibiting  the  dram¬ 
shops  to  a  vote  of  men  and  women.  But  it  is  equally  true  that 
this  was  done  by  her  great  personal  influence  in  privately  secur¬ 
ing  from  leaders  strongly  opposed,  an  agreement  to  let  her  make 
the  test,  whereupon  the  resolution  went  through  without  debate. 
Thus  it  is  an  historical  fact  that  the  first  time  the  subject  of  pro¬ 
hibition  came  before  the  temperance  women  of  America  was  upon 
the  proposition  that  the  united  home  forces  should  vote  out  the 
saloon.  We  knew  that  we  could  not  at  Newark  get  such  a  reso- 
ution  passed,  therefore  we  tried  another  plan,  asking  that  in  the 
territories  and  the  District  of  Columbia  the  sale  of  alcoholic  drinks 
should  be  legalized  only  “  when  a  majority  of  men  by  their  votes 
and  women  by  their  signatures  should  ask  for  the  legalizing  of 
such  sale.  ”  A  petition  to  Congress  embodying  this  request  led 
to  our  first  work  at  the  capital. 

It  was  at  this  Newark  convention  that  the  national  motto, 
“  For  God  and  Home  and  Native  Land,”  was  first  indorsed.  It 


“  Our  Union  ”  Saved. 


353 


had  come  to  my  thought  early  in  the  work  and  been  accepted  as 
the  motto  of  our  Chicago  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union, 
then  of  the  State  of  Illinois  and  lastly  of  the  nation.  It  was  at  the 
Newark  convention  that  a  majoritj^of  the  members  pledged  them¬ 
selves  to  pass  the  cup  untasted  at  the  sacramental  table,  if  they 
knew  that  it  held  alcoholic  wine.  It  was  at  Cincinnati  the  year 
previous,  though  on  recommendation  of  the  New  Jersey  conven¬ 
tion,  that  we  pledged  ourselves  to  observe  the  “noon  hour”  for 
prayer  that  God  would  help  the  temperance  work  and  workers, 
overthrow  the  liquor  traffic  and  bring  in  the  universal  reign 
of  Christ. 

At  the  Newark  convention  our  national  organ  was  found  to 
be  so  heavily  in  debt  that  its  committee  of  publication  resigned, 
and  Mrs.  Jane  M.  Geddes,  of  Michigan,  Mrs.  Mary  T.  Burt,  of 
New  York,  Mrs.  C.  B.  Buell,  of  Connecticut,  and  myself  volun¬ 
teered  to  save  the  day  for  this  new  journalistic  venture  and  literary 
outgrowth  of  the  Crusade.  We  put  in  what  money  we  had  as  a 
free-will  offering,  gathered  up  gifts  from  our  friends,  gave  several 
months’  gratuitous  work,  during  which  I  was  entertained  in  Brook¬ 
lyn  by  my  good  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  J.  F.  Stout,  and  we  were  so 
happy  as  to  see  the  enterprise  placed  upon  a  paying  basis.  It  was 
removed  to  Chicago  in  1882,  by  action  of  the  Louisville  conven¬ 
tion,  merged  with  The  Signal,  organ  of  the  Illinois  Woman’s  Chris¬ 
tian  Temperance  Union,  founded  by  Mrs.  T.  B.  Carse  in  1880,  and 
under  the  name  of  The  Union  Signal ,  was  at  first  edited  by  Mrs. 
Mary  Bannister  Willard,  and  is  now  by  Mary  Allen  West,  issuing 
a  weekly  edition  of  from  fifty-five  to  sixty  thousand.  It  is  one 
of  half  a  score  of  periodicals  brought  out  by  our  Woman’s  Tem¬ 
perance  Publication  Association,  a  joint  stock  company  of  women 
only,  which  declared  in  1886  a  dividend  of  four  per  cent,  in  ’87 
one  of  five  and  in  ’88  one  of  six  per  cent,  besides  owning  its 
machinery,  handling  in  1888  a  hundred  and  thirty  thousand  dol¬ 
lars  and  sending  out  over  sixty  million  pages  of  literature. 

In  the  winter  of  1877  I  went  to  Washington  and  spoke  before 
the  House  Committee  on  Judiciary,  Hon.  Proctor  Knott  of  Ken¬ 
tucky,  chairman,  urging  the  claims  of  the  Home  Protection  Peti¬ 
tion  adopted  at  Newark  as  aforesaid.  I  remember  the  presence  of 
Gen.  Ben  Butler  with  a  red,  red  rose  in  his  button-hole.  I  remem¬ 
ber  the  blandly  non-committal  Garfield,  the  friendly  Frye,  the 
23 


354  Moody' s  Meeting  for  Women — Gough' s  Lecture . 

earnest  Blair,  the  polite  Samuel  J.  Randall  who  invited  us  to  a 
seat  in  the  speaker’s  gallery  during  the  presentation  of  our  huge 
petition,  which  was  so  large  that  the  pages  required  help  to  bring 
it  in.  I  remember  being  most  hospitably  entertained  for  ten  days 
in  the  home  of  Rev.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  John  P.  Newman,  where  I  said 
nothing  about  my  intention  to  speak  before  the  Committee  on 
Judiciary,  supposing  that  my  kind  friends  were  opposed  to  a  move¬ 
ment  so  progressive,  and  I  remember,  too,  how  glad  I  was  when 
they  told  me  afterward  of  their  hearty  sympathy  and  took  me  to 
task  for  not  inviting  them  to  be  present.  From  Washington  I 
came  home  to  Chicago  and  wTas  somewhat  identified  with  the 
Moody  meetings  then  being  held  in  the  huge  Tabernacle  there. 
I  shall  never  forget  a  stormy  Sabbath  day  when,  through  blinding 
snow,  nine  thousand  women  gathered  to  hear  a  sermon  specially 
for  them,  from  that  most  successful  evangelist  of  the  Christian  era. 
We  then  met  for  the  first  time  and  he  asked  me  to  lead  in  prayer. 
The  mighty  significance  of  such  an  army  of  wives  and  mothers, 
sisters  and  daughters  gathered  to  pray  for  their  beloved  absent 
ones,  surged  in  upon  my  heart  like  the  sea  at  high  tide.  I  never 
beheld  a  more  impressive  scene.  A  few  weeks  later  I  introduced 
John  B.  Gough  in  this  Tabernacle  to  the  largest  temperance  audi¬ 
ence  I  have  ever  seen  assembled  within  four  walls.  How  mag¬ 
nificently  he  spoke  !  his  good  wife,  Mary  Gough,  sitting  near  by 
with  knitting-work  in  hand.  As  he  retired  from  the  audience 
and  the  tremendous  evening’s  task,  a  little  boy’s  autograph  album 
was  thrust  into  his  face  and  as  he  wrote  his  name  the  page  was 
wet  with  perspiration.  Alas  for  kind  but  thoughtless  hearts! 

“  Strange  we  never  heed  the  singer 

Till  the  sweet  voiced  bird  has  flown,” 

would  be  the  truthful  epitaph  of  a  thousand  Greathearts  of  pen 
and  voice  killed  by  kindness  and  appreciation  no  less  than  by  the 
stress  of  their  prodigious  industry  and  boundless  versatility  in  the 
sacred  causes  upon  whose  altars  they  are  laid  and  by  whose  steep 
stair-ways  they  climb  to  fame  and  death.  We  “heed  ”  them  in 
eulogies,  in  resolutions  of  condolence,  in  marble-cut  epitaphs; 
would  that  we  might  heed  them  earlier  by  lifting  off  the  wholly 
needless  cares  we  heap  upon  their  shoulders  in  token  of  our  love  ! 

I  remember  being  in  the  Tabernacle  when  it  was  draped  in 


Moody  ’  s  Pro position . 


355 


black  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Philip  Bliss,  whose  death  by  the  frightful 
railroad  accident  at  Ashtabula  Bridge,  shocked  the  whole  world. 
They  were  to  have  been  present  on  Christmas  day,  the  announce¬ 
ments  were  out  and  the  public  expectant.  Mr.  Moody  stood 
before  the  multitude  and  cried.  We  all  cried  with  him,  and  he 
said  between  his  sobs,  “O  that  lovely,  lovely  man!”  I  could 
but  say  of  Mr.  Moody  then,  and  often  since,  ‘‘Thy  gentleness 
hath  made  thee  great.” 


CHAPTER  III. 


MOODY’S  BOSTON  MEETINGS— OLIVER'S  DEATH. 

Toward  the  close  of  his  meeting,  sometime  in  January, 
Brother  Moody — that  is  the  only  name  for  him — asked  me  to  call 
at  the  Brevoort  House.  He  stood  on  the  rug  in  front  of  a  blazing 
grate  in  his  private  parlor,  and  abruptly  said  to  me,  “Good¬ 
morning — what  was  that  trouble  you  and  Dr.  Fowler  had  in  the 
University  at  Evanston  ?  ” 

I  was  not  a  little  “  set  back,”  as  the  phrase  is,  but  replied, 
“Dr.  Fowler  has  the  will  of  a  Napoleon,  I  have  the  will  of  a 
Queen  Elizabeth  ;  when  an  immovable  meets  an  indestructible 
object,  something  has  to  give  way.  ” 

He  said  “Humph,”  and  changed  the  theme.  “Will  you 
go  with  me  to  Boston  and  help  in  the  women’s  meetings?”  he 
asked.  “  I  think  I  .should  be  glad  to  do  so,  but  would  like  to 
talk  with  mother,  ’  ’  was  my  answer.  ‘  ‘  What  are  your  means  of 
support?”  was  his  next  question.  “I  have  none  except  as 
the  Chicago  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  pays  my  cur¬ 
rent  expenses,  and  in  leaving  its  work  for  yours,  I  should  have 
none  at  all,”  I  said.  “Let’s  pray  about  it  !”  concluded  Brother 
Moody,  falling  upon  his  knees.  We  did  pray  and  he  shook  hands, 
dismissing  me  to  admit  some  other  individual  of  the  endless  com- 
ers-in.  My  mother  liked  the  plan.  “  Enter  every  open  door,  ” 
she  said,  and  every  friend  I  had,  seemed  glad.  At  a  farewell 
meeting  in  Farwell  Hall,  Mrs.  Carse  presented  me  a  Bagster  Bible, 
and  John  Collier,  a  reformed  man  whom  we  all  liked  and  believed 
in,  gave  me  on  behalf  of  himself  and  others  who  had  signed  the 
pledge,  a  copy  of  Cruden’s  Concordance,  saying,  “We  didn’t 
know  about  the  Bible,  let  alone  this  big,  learned  Concordance, 
till  the  women  fished  us  up  out  of  the  mud  and  set  us  walking  on 
the  heavenly  highway.  ” 

I  had  studied  the  Bible  a  few  weeks  with  Rev.  W.  J.  Erd- 

man,  a  scholar  of  beautiful  spirit  and  great  knowledge  of  the 

(356) 


Boston  and  Beacon  Street. 


357 


Scriptures.  But  I  went  to  Boston  with  no  material  on  hand  save 
a  few  temperance  lectures.  On  a  fly  leaf  of  my  new  ‘  ‘  Bagster  ’  ’ 
I  find  this  entry,  my  only  record  of  that  fruitful  three  months  of 
work  and  study,  for  I  kept’  no  journal  and  have  not  since  my 
return  from  Europe  in  1870  : 

“My  first  whole  day  of  real,  spiritual,  joyful,  loving  study  of  the  kernel 
of  God’s  word,  simply  desirous  to  learn  my  Father’s  will,  is  this  17th  of 
February,  1877,  with  the  Boston  work  just  begun.  And  on  this  sweet, event¬ 
ful  day,  in  which,  with  every  hour  of  study,  the  Bible  has  grown  dearer, 
I  take  as  my  life-motto  henceforth,  humbly  asking  God’s  grace  that  I  may 
measure  up  to  it,  this  wonderful  passage  from  Paul:  uAnd  whatsoever  ye 
do,  in  word  or  deed,  do  all  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  giving  thanks  to 
God  and  the  Father  by  him.  ” — Col.  3:17.  *  ’ 

I  had  lacked  specific  Bible  teaching,  having  almost  never 
attended  Sunday-school,  because  of  being  brought  up  in  the 
country.  Mrs.  Governor  Beveridge  is  the  only  teacher  who  had 
me  in  charge  whom  I  clearly  recall,  and  she  for  a  brief  period. 
I  had  taught  in  Sunday-school,  somewhat,  but  with  the  pressure 
of  academic  and  college  cares,  my  temerity  in  undertaking  a  Bible 
reading  daily  before  the  most  cultured  audience  of  women  on  the 
footstool  surprises  me  as  I  reflect  upon  it.  Entertained  in  the 
beautiful  home  of  Mrs.  Fenno  Tudor,  an  Episcopalian  lady  of 
broad  views,  on  Beacon  Hill,  I  went  to  my  room  at  eight  o’clock 
each  morning,  studied  until  noon,  then  met  my  audience,  spoke 
twenty  minutes  without  manuscript,  conducted  the  inquity  meet¬ 
ing  afterward,  attended  to  correspondence  for  the  National  Wom¬ 
an’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  all  the  afternoon,  save  when  I 
had  an  extra  meeting,  which  was  not  infrequently,  and  made  a 
temperance  address,  usually  in  the  suburbs,  at  night. 

I  never  studied  by  lamp-light  and  I  had  my  requisite  eight 
hours  of  sleep.  Sometimes  I  had  four  or  six  hundred,  often  a 
thousand,  and  occasionally  twelve  or  fourteen  hundred  women 
in  my  meetings  at  Berkeley  Street  and  Park  Street  Congrega¬ 
tional  Churches.  Usually  I  spoke  011  Sabbath  evening  in  Clar¬ 
endon  Street  Baptist  Church,  and  when  Mr.  Moody  called  a 
“Temperance  Conference,”  in  the  Tabernacle,  at  which  Gough, 
Tyng,  Wanamaker  and  others  spoke,  he  placed  my  name  upon 
his  program,  also  had  me  literally  preach — though  I  did  not  call 
it  that — one  Sunday  afternoon.  I  said  to  him,  “  Brother  Moody, 


353 


Moody  arid  Money. 


you  need  not  think  because  I  am  a  Western  woman  and  not  afraid 
to  go,  you  must  put  me  in  the  forefront  of  the  battle  after  this 
fashion.  Perhaps  you  will  hinder  the  work  among  these  con¬ 
servatives.”  But  at  this  he  laughed  in  his  cheery  way,  and 
declared  that  “it  was  just  what  they  needed  and  I  need  n’t  be 
scared  for  he  was  n’t.” 

The  Christian  womanhood  of  Boston  rallied  around  me  like 
sisters  indeed.  I  never  had  more  cordial  help,  even  from  my  own 
white  ribboners. 

Mrs.  Myra  Pierce,  the  leading  Methodist  woman  of  the  city, 
was  made  chairman  of  the  Committee  to  arrange  for  my  meet¬ 
ings,  and,  with  Mrs.  Rev.  Dr.  A.  J.  Gordon,  stood  by  me  stead¬ 
ily.  I  tried  my  best  to  make  the  temperance  work  a  prominent 
feature,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  some  grand  new  work¬ 
ers  develop,  among  whom  were  Miss  Elisabeth  S.  Tobey,  and 
Miss  Bessie  Gordon,  now  president  and  corresponding  secretary 
of  Massachusetts  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union,  and 
Miss  Anna  Gordon,  a  gifted  girl,  born  in  Boston,  christened  by 
Rev.  Dr.  Nehemiah  Adams,  to  whose  church  her  parents  be¬ 
longed,  and  now  for  twelve  years  my  devoted  friend,  faithful 
secretary  and  constant  traveling  companion. 

One  day  as  I  was  about  to  open  my  noon  meeting  in  Berke¬ 
ley  Street  Church,  Mr.  Moody  came  running  up  the  pulpit  steps, 
for  his  own  meeting  was  waiting,  and  said,  “  I  see  by  the  papers 
that  you’re  talking  temperance  all  around  the  suburbs.  Why  do 
you  do  that  ?  I  want  all  there  is  of  you  for  the  Boston  meetings.” 

“  It  is  because  I  have  n’t  any  money  and  must  go  out  and 
earn  some,”  I  replied. 

“  You  don’t  mean  that  I’ve  gi/en  you  nothing?”  he  said 
striking  his  forehead. 

‘‘Of  course  you’ve  given  me  nothing,”  I  replied  with 
mildness. 

‘  ‘  Who  paid  your  way  from  Chicago  ?  ’  ’ 

‘‘I  did.”  I 

“Didn’t  those  fellows” — naming  some  of  his  immediate 
friends — “send  you  money  for  traveling  expenses  as  I  told 
them  to  ?  ” 

“  I  guess  they  forgot  it,”  I  replied. 

“  Well,  I  never  heard  the  like  !  ”  and  he  was  off  like  a  shot. 


Goes  Her  Way. 


359 


That  evening,  as  I  was  going  into  my  meeting,  he  thrust  a 
generous  cheek  into  my  hand,  saying,  “Don’t  you  go  beating 
about  in  the  suburbs  any  more.” 

Everything  went  on  smoothly  until  a  Woman’s  Christian 
Temperance  Union  Convention  was  announced  at  Malden,  and  I 
was  asked  to  speak  there  with  Mrs.  Livermore,  then  president  of 
Massachusetts  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union.  I  agreed 
to  go,  and  was  again  taken  to  task  by  Brother  Moody,  but  this 
time  on  another  ground.  He  held  with  earnestness  that  I  ought 
not  to  appear  on  the  same  platform  with  one  who  denied  the 
divinity  of  Christ.  In  this  he  was  so  earnest  and  so  cogent,  by 
reason  of  his  deep  convictions  and  his  unrivaled  knowledge  of 
proof-passages,  that  I  deferred  to  his  judgment,  partly  from  con¬ 
viction  and  partly  from  a  desire  to  keep  the  peace  and  go  on  with 
my  good  friend  in  his  work ;  for  I  deem  it  one  of  the  choicest 
seals  of  my  calling  that  Dwight  L.  Moody  should  have  invited  • 
me  to  cast  in  my  little  lot  with  his  great  one  as  an  evangelist. 
But  on  returning  West,  I  went  over  the  whole  subject  of  an 
“orthodox”  Christian’s  duty,  for  myself,  and  as  a  result,  sent 
the  following  letter  to  my  honored  brother,  through  my  gracious 
friend,  his  wife  : 

Evanston,  September  5,  1877. 

Dear  Mrs.  Moody — In  view  of  the  fact  that  when  I  last  saw  Mr. 
Moody,  I  agreed  to  go  with  him  in  his  work,  I  think  a  simple  statement  of 
the  ground  of  my  changed  purpose,  due  to  myself,  though  I  dislike  to  take 
his  time  to  listen  to  it ;  you  will  consult  your  own  judgment  about  present¬ 
ing  my  reasons  to  him. 

For  myself,  the  more  I  study  the  subject,  the  more  I  fail  to  see  that  it 
is  for  us  to  decide  who  shall  work  in  this  cause  side  by  side  with  us,  and 
who  shall  not.  I  cannot  judge  how  the  hearts  of  earnest,  pure,  prayerful 
women  may  appear  in  God’s  clear  sight,  nor  just  when  their  loyalty  to 
Christ  has  reached  the  necessary  degree.  If  to  the  communion  table  we  bid 
those  welcome  who  feel  themselves  fit  subjects  to  come,  then  surely  in  the 
sacred  communion  of  work  for  poor  humanity,  I  dare  not  say,  “You  may 
come,  ”  and  “You  must  not.”  “With  you  I  will  speak  on  the  same  plat¬ 
form, — with  you,  I  will  not.”  Rather  let  the  burden  of  this  solemn  choice 
rest  on  those  who  come,  and  whosoever  will  may  work  with  me,  if  only  she 
brings  earnest  purpose,  devout  soul,  and  irreproachable  moral  character. 
This  has  been  my  course  always,  and  it  would  be  denying  my  deepest  and 
most  sacred  convictions  to  turn  aside  from  it.  In  denominational  lines,  we 
certainly  have  safeguards  enough  for  the  defense  of  the  faith,  and  I  am 
sadly  aware  that  within  these  lines  there  are  myriads  less  true,  less  Christ- 


360  Co-operatio?i  the  Key-Note. 

like  than  many  whom  I  must  disfellowship  if  I  take  the  dilemma  by  the 
other  horn. 

All  my  life  I  have  been  devoted  to  the  advancement  of  women  in  educa¬ 
tion  and  opportunity.  I  firmly  believe  God  has  a  work  for  them  to  do  as 
evangelists,  as  bearers  of  Christ’s  message  to  the  ungospeled,  to  the  prayer¬ 
meeting,  to  the  church  generally  and  the  world  at  large,  such  as  most  people 
have  not  dreamed.  It  is  therefore  my  dearest  wish  to  help  break  dowrn  the 
barriers  of  prejudice  that  keep  them  silent.  I  cannot  think  that  meetings 
in  which  “the  brethren  ”  only  are  called  upon,  are  one  half  as  effective  as 
those  where  all  are  freely  invited,  and  I  can  but  believe  that  “women’s  meet¬ 
ings,”  as  such,  are  a  relic  of  an  outworn  regime.  Never  did  I  hold  one  of 
these  meetings  without  a  protest  in  my  soul  against  it.  As  in  the  day  of 
Pentecost,  so  now,  let  men  and  women  in  perfectly  impartial  fashion  partici¬ 
pate  in  all  services  conducted  in  His  name  in  whom  there  is  neither  bond 
nor  free,  male  nor  female,  but  all  are  one.  Nobody  is  more  than  half  him¬ 
self  who  does  not  work  in  accordance  with  his  highest  convictions  ;  and  I 
feel  that  whenever  I  surrender  the  views  herein  stated,  I  have  the  lever  by 
the  short  arm  when  I  might  just  as  well  grasp  the  long  one,  nay,  when  I  am 
in  duty  bound  to  do  this.  No  one  knows  better  than  Mr.  Moody,  that  to 
work  at  our  best,  we  must  work  out  our  own  ideas.  To  represent  the  views 
of  another,  no  matter  how  much  we  may  love,  honor,  or  revere  him,  is  like 
pulling  with  the  left  hand  when  we  might  use  the  right. 

Mr.  Moody  views  the  temperance  work  from  the  standpoint  of  a  reviv¬ 
alist,  and  so  emphasizes  the  regeneration  of  men.  But  to  me  as  a  woman, 
there  are  other  phases  of  it  almost  equally  important  to  its  success,  viz., 
saving  the  children ,  teaching  them  never  to  drink  ;  showing  to  their  mothers 
the  duty  of  total  abstinence ;  rousing  a  dead  church  and  a  torpid  Sunday- 
school  to  its  duty  ;  spreading  the  facts  concerning  the  iniquitous  traffic  far 
and  wide;  influencing  legislation  so  that  what  is  physically  wrong  and 
morally  wrong  shall  not,  on  the  statute  books  of  a  Christian  land,  be  set  down 
as  legally  right ; — and  to  this  end  putting  the  ballot  in  woman’s  hand  for  the 
protection  of  her  little  ones  and  of  her  home.  All  these  ways  of  working 
seem  to  me  eminently  religious — thoroughly  in  harmony  with  the  spirit  of 
the  most  devoted  Christian  man  or  woman. 

So  I  cannot  believe  myself  called  upon  to  discontinue  these  lines  of 
work,  nor  to  cease  hearty  co-operation  with  those  thus  working ;  and  yet  it 
remains  true,  that  best  of  all  I  love  to  declare  the  blessed  tidings  of  sal¬ 
vation,  and  would  gladly  do  so  still,  if  I  might  act  in  my  own  character, 
under  the  auspices  of  the  greatest  Christian  leader  of  our  day. 

It  costs  me  much  to  turn  away  from  such  a  future  and  from  such  a 
guide — but  I  believe  it  to  be  right,  and  this  is  a  decision  resulting  from  a 
whole  summer  of  thought  and  earnest  prayer  for  wisdom. 

Pardon  me  for  going  so  much  into  detail,  and  yet  I  think  your  kindly 
nature  will  appreciate  my  wish  to  be  understood  by  those  for  whom  I  have 
so  great  regard,  and  with  whom  my  relations  have  always  been  so  pleasant. 

With  sincere  Christian  affection,  I  am,  as  I  shall  always  be, 

Your  friend,  Frances  E.  Willard. 


Chicago  W.  C.  T.  U.  Convention. 


361 


In  the  wider  fields  that  would  have  opened  to  me  as  a  coad¬ 
jutor  of  the  great  evangelist,  no  doubt  the  widest  that  could  by 
any  possibility  be  open  to  a  Christian  worker,  whether  man  or 
woman,  in  our  day,  my  work  for  the  Woman’s  Christian  Tem¬ 
perance  Union  and  the  World’s  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance 
Union  would  have  been  immeasurably  greater  than  it  is  now,  for 
Mr.  Moody  made  no  objection  to  my  being  president  of  the  first 
society,  and  I  doubt  not  he  would  have  welcomed  my  becoming 
president  of  the  larger  one.  I  should  have  gone  to  England  with 
him  and  been  able,  both  there  and  here,  to  acclimate  the  white 
ribbon  movement  in  conservative  circles  never  yet  penetrated  by 
its  broad  and  genial  influence.  It  was  my  dream  to  do  this — to 
rally  under  Mr.  Moody’s  indirect  influence,  all  the  leaders,  men 
and  women,  of  our  growing  host.  But  for  this  one  objection,  so 
unlooked  for,  how  different  might  have  been  my  future  and  that 
of  the  white  ribbon  cause  !  My  friends  were  grieved  again,  and 
many  told  me  what  many  more  told  others,  that  I  had  once  more 
made  ‘ ‘  the  mistake  of  a  life-time.”  For  myself  I  only  knew  that, 
liberal  as  he  was  toward  me  in  all  other  things,  tolerant  of  my 
ways  and  manners,  generous  in  his  views  upon  the  woman  ques¬ 
tion,  devotedly  conscientious  and  true,  Brother  Moody’s  Scripture 
interpretations  concerning  religious  toleration  were  too  literal  for 
me  ;  the  j  acket  was  too  straight — I  could  not  wear  it. 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year,  1877,  our  annual  convention  was 
held  in  Chicago,  where,  after  a  lively  discussion  over  the  report 
of  the  committee  on  badge  (they  having  recommended  royal 
purple  as  the  color),  we  adopted  a  simple  bit  of  white  ribbon, 
emblematic  of  purity  and  peace,  on  the  principle  of  ‘  ‘  first  pure, 
then  peaceable.”  Miss  Margaret  Winslow,  of  Brooklyn,  then 
our  editor,  made  a  telling  speech  upon  this  subject,  which  I  wish 
might  have  gone  upon  the  records.  After  debate,  a  resolution 
known  in  our  annals  as  “the  famous  Thirteenth”  was  adopted, 
declaring  that  ‘  ‘  woman  ought  to  have  the  power  to  close  the 
dram-shop  door  over  against  her  home.” 


At  this  convention  I  resigned  the  corresponding  secretary¬ 
ship  of  the  National  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  and 
again  declined  the  use  of  my  name  as  a  candidate  for  president, 
because  I  felt,  after  much  prayer,  unwilling  to  appear  as  an  oppos¬ 
ing  candidate. 


362 


Goes  “  On  a  Bureau .” 


Throughout  the  next  year,  1878,  I  was  a  free  lance  for  the 
Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union,  during  which  period  I 
proceeded  to  “go  on  a  bureau. ’ *  My  friends  had  long  urged  me 
to  quit  the  guerilla  warfare  of  hap-hazard  engagements,  so  to 
speak,  and  to  put  my  invitations  into  the  hands  of  a  Lyceum 
Lecture  Bureau.  I11  an  evil  hour  I  listened  to  the  siren’s  voice, 
went  to  Mr.  Slayton,  the  gentlemanly  manager  of  such  an  insti¬ 
tution,  he  having  repeatedly  invited  me  to  do  so,  handed  him 
some  of  my  letters  and  lists  of  invitation,  of  which  I  had  enough 
to  cover  more  time  and  territory  than  I  could  ever  exhaust  ; 
submitted  to  the  indignity  of  placards,  small  bills  and  a  big 
lithograph  ;  was  duly  set  forth  upon  glossy  tinted  paper  in  an 
imposing  “Annual” — in  common  with  one  hundred  others — as 
a  light  of  the  age,  no  newspaper  to  the  contrary  being  quoted  ; 
contracted  to  pay  my  per  cent,  and  was  started  out.  I  remained 
on  that  bureau,  to  which  I  had  climbed  at  the  expense  of  a  hun- 
dred-dollar  lithograph  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  just  three  weeks.  It 
was  what  is  called  ‘  ‘  a  damper  ’  ’  to  one  of  my  temperament  and 
habitudes.  To  go  from  the  genial,  breezy,  out-doorsy  temperance 
meeting,  the  warm,  tender,  exalted  gospel  meeting,  the  home¬ 
like,  sisterly,  inspiring  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union 
Convention,  into  a  human  snow-bank  of  folks  who  have  “  paid 
to  get  in”  and  are  reckoning  quietly,  as  one  proceeds,  whether 
or  not  they  are  really  going  “  to  get  their  money’s  worth,”  is  an 
experience  not  to  be  endured  with  equanimity  by  anybody  who 
can  slip  his  head  out  of  its  noose.  To  have  a  solemn  “  Lyceum 
Committee  ”  of  men  meet  you  at  the  train,  take  you  to  a  hotel  of 
funereal  dreariness  and  cooked-over  cuisine  ;  to  march  upon  a 
realistic  stage  that  no  woman’s  hand  has  beautified  or  brightened  ; 
to  have  no  heartsome  music  or  winsome  prayer  preceding  you  and 
tuning  your  weary  spirit  to  the  high  ministry  for  which  you 
came  ;  to  face  the  glare  of  footlights  ;  and  after  you  have  ‘  ‘  gone 
through”  your  speech  and  are  feeling  particularly  “gone,”  to 
hear  the  jeremiad  of  the  treasurer  that  “they  had  n’t  sold  so 
many  tickets  as  they  hoped,”  or  “  the  weather  was  against  them,” 
or  “counter  attractions  had  proved  too  powerful;”  all  this  is 
“nerve-wear”  to  no  purpose.  Then  to  be  exploited  over  the 
country  with  as  little  regard  for  comfort  as  if  you  were  a  case  of 
cod-fish  or  a  keg  of  nails,  the  heart  of  the  night  being  all  the 


“ Philanthropists  Mustn't  Make  Money." 


363 


symptom  of  a  heart  that  your  time-table  reveals,  the  wee  small 
hours  being  made  consciously  present  with  you  in  order  that  you 
may  “make  ”  the  next  engagement,  the  unconscionable  “wait  ” 
at  side  stations  and  uncanny  junction  depots,  all  these  are  rea¬ 
sons  of  my  hope  never  again  to  see  a  “  Bureau,” — indeed,  I  can 
hardly  tolerate  one  in  my  room  since  an  end  was  put  to  that 
abysmal  epoch  of  three  weeks.  I  think  my  manager  was  as 
glad  to  have  me  go  as  I  was  to  say  Good-by,  for  I  would  n’t  raise 
my  price  ($25),  even  when  double  and  three  times  that  amount 
was  offered  for  an  “option.”  “No,”  I  replied  with  reproving 
tone,  “a  philanthropist  can’t  afford  to  make  money.  It  shall 
never  be  said  that  I  charged  more  as  I  became  more  popular. 
I’ve  set  my  price  once  for  all  and  I’ll  never  raise  it  and  I’ll  never 
lay  up  money  and  I’ll  never  be  rich, — nobody  shall  ever  bring 
that  reproach  upon  me  no  matter  how  else  I  may  fail.”  Whereat 
my  handsome  manager  was  wont  to  look  upon  me  as  mildly 
lunatic,  changing  the  subject  lest  I  might  become  violent. 

Returning  to  Anna  Gordon’s  tender  mercies,  a  young  woman 
who  has  repeatedly  convinced  ticket-agents  that  they  make  mis¬ 
take  concerning  train-time ;  who  has  a  face  so  honest  that  (be¬ 
fore  that  wretched  Interstate  law !)  she  has  often  got  passes  for 
me  from  entire  strangers  on  her  simple  say  so  ;  who  understands 
traveling  as  well  as  Robert  Bonner  does  Maud  S.  and  who  has  n’t 
her  superior  as  a  business  woman  on  this  continent,  I  have 
gone  my  way  in  peace  since  1878,  visiting  with  her  every  state 
and  territory  and  all  but  two  capitals,  those  of  Arizona  and  Idaho, 
in  a  single  year  (1883,  our  temperance  “round-up,”  ten  years 
after  the  Crusade),  and  reaching,  since  my  work  began,  a  thou¬ 
sand  towms,  including  all  that  by  the  census  of  1870  had  ten 
thousand  inhabitants,  and  most  of  those  having  five  thousand. 
Mother  says  that  for  about  ten  years  she  thinks  I  averaged  but 
three  weeks  in  a  year  at  home,  and  Anna  Gordon  says  she  thinks 
I  averaged  one  meeting  daily  throughout  that  period. 

In  1878  the  white  ribbon  regiment  of  Illinois  placed  me  at 
its  head  and  we  entered  on  our  home  protection  campaign,  col¬ 
lecting  in  nine  weeks  nearly  two  hundred  thousand  names  to  the 
following  petition  : 

To  the  Senate  and  House  of  Representatives  of  the  State  of  Illinois  : 

Whereas,  In  these  years  of  temperance  work  the  argument  of  defeat 


364 


Women  at  the  Illinois  Capital. 


in  our  contest  with  the  saloons  has  taught  us  that  our  efforts  are  merely 
palliative  of  a  disease  in  the  body  politic,  which  can  never  be  cured  until 
law  and  moral  suasion  go  hand  in  hand  in  our  beloved  state  ;  and 

Whereas,  The  instincts  of  self-protection  and  of  apprehension  for  the 
safety  of  her  children,  her  tempted  loved  ones,  and  her  home,  render  woman 
the  natural  enemy  of  the  saloon  ; 

Therefore ,  Your  petitioners,  men  and  women  of  the  state  of  Illinois, 
having  at  heart  the  pr«tection  of  our  homes  from  their  worst  enemy,  the 
legalized  traffic  in  strong  drink,  do  hereby  most  earnestly  pray  your  honora¬ 
ble  body  that,  by  suitable  legislation,  it  may  be  provided  that  in  the  state  of 
Illinois,  the  question  of  licensing  at  any  time,  in  any  locality,  the  sale  of 
any  and  all  intoxicating  drinks,  shall  be  submitted  to  and  determined  by 
ballot,  in  which  women  of  lawful  age  shall  be  privileged  to  take  part,  in  the 
same  manner  as  men,  when  voting  on  the  question  of  license. 

We  had  great  hearings  at  the  State  House,  which  we  deco¬ 
rated  with  the  Petition,*  all  the  names  being  pasted  upon  a  strip 
of  cloth  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long,  bound  with  blue  to 
represent  the  Murphy,  and  red  to  indicate  the  Reynolds  reform 
movement ;  we  sang  ‘  ‘  Home  Sweet  Home  ’  ’  in  the  Senate  cham¬ 
ber  ;  held  prayer-meetings  in  the  committee  rooms  and  on  top  of 
Lincoln’s  monument,  and  convened  mass-meetings  throughout 
the  state  to  the  tune  of : 

“  Rally  then,  rally  then, 

Ye  men  of  Illinois  ; 

Give  woman  home  protection  vote, 

To  save  tlie  tempted  boy.” 

That  we  did  not  get  an  iota  from  the  Illinois  legislature  goes 
without  saying.  It  is  chosen  by  the  saloon  and  legislates  for  it 
almost  exclusively.  The  beer  and  whisky  interests  of  the  world 
are  nowhere  centered  as  in  our  state,  with  Chicago  and  Peoria  as 
the  foci  of  an  ellipse  in  which  our  politicians  move  as  in  an  orbit. 
But  all  the  same  we  roused  the  people  so  that,  under  our  local 
option  law,  six  hundred  and  twenty-five  towns  went  for  prohibi¬ 
tion  out  of  eight  hundred  and  thirty-two  voting  that  spring,  and 
nothing  so  encouraging  was  ever  known  before  nor  has  been 
since. 

Rest  Cottage  was  like  a  rag-bag  by  reasons  of  the  petitions 
stacked  everywhere.  My  dear  old  mother,  president  of  the  local 

♦This  petition  was  sealed  and  placed  in  the  rooms  of  the  Chicago  Historical  Society, 
not  to  reappear  until  the  day  of  Jubilee  when  women  vote  in  Illinois. 


Politicians  “  Dare  Not  Stand  by  the  Women.”  365 

union  when  she  was  seventy,  took  turns  with  Anna  Gordon,  iron¬ 
ing  the  “  Big  Petition  ”  smooth  as  a  shirt  bosom.  I  used  to  take 
my  little  tin  dinner-pail  as  of  old  in  district  school  days,  and  go 
over  to  the  Illinois  State  House  every  morning,  some  kind  ladies 
being  there  with  their  sewing  to  stay  with  me,  and  we  thus  kept 
house  for  weeks.  The  state  geologist  let  us  fix  up  his  room  with 
flowers  and  birds  and  pretty  home  devices.  A  good  temperance 
man  was  in  attendance  to  take  our  cards  in  to  the  legislators 
when  they  were  not  busy,  and  we  interviewed  them  man  by 
man,  setting  down  their  names  as  plus  or  minus,  according  to 
their  promises.  One  day  all  the  grangers  came  in  a  body  and 
pledged  us  their  votes.  Another,  a  party  leader  agreed  to  make 
the  speech  of  presentation  when  our  petition  should  come  up,  but 
a  week  later  he  came  in  and  said  the  caucus  (Republican)  had 
threatened  him  ;  he  had  also,  “  heard  from  home  and  did  n’t  dare 
to  go  back  on  the  men  that  had  voted  him  in.”  “  If  you  women 
had  votes,  and  could  reward  them  that  stood  by  you  and  punish 
them  as  would  n’t,  your  bill  would  be  all  right,”  he  said  com- 
miseratingly  as  he  slunk  out  of  the  room.  Another  leader  with 
whom  we  had  a  private  interview,  said:  “  Cadies,  I’m  ashamed  to 
admit  that  I’m  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  can’t  do  as  I  would. 
My  wife  put  her  hand  on  my  shoulder  when  I  left  home  and  said, 
‘Won’t  you  please  stand  by  the  temperance  ladies?’  and  she 
looked  straight  in  my  eyes  so  earnestly  I  could  have  cried.  But 
I  said,  ‘  No,  my  dear,  I  can’t;  my  law  practice  is  nearly  all  from 
the  saloons,  my  hopes  of  promotion  are  from  them,  I  have  no 
sons  to  help  me  earn  money,  and  I’m  bound  to  support  you  and 
the  girls  in  good  style,  so  don’t  say  another  word, ’  and  then  I 
left  her.  Now,  ladies,  if  I  denied  the  plea,  of  the  woman  I  love 
better  than  any  other  being  on  earth,  you’ll  not  urge  me,  I  know.” 
As  we  still  pressed  our  plea  this  man  of  kind  nature  had  tears  in 
his  eyes  ;  his  lips  quivered,  and  he  left  us  saying  :  ‘‘I  want  to 
help  you,  ladies,  more  than  you  know,  but  I  just  can't.” 

I  have  not  named  the  most  significant  experience  of  my  life 

in  1878. 

My  only  brother,  Oliver,  of  whose  great  gifts  and  genial 
nature  I  can  never  say  enough,  after  his  graduation  from  Beloit 
College  in  1859,  took  a  diploma  from  Garrett  Biblical  Institute 
in  1861  and  became  a  Methodist  minister,  founding  that  church 


366 


Brother' s  Illness . 


in  Colorado,  and  being  chosen  presiding  elder  when  he  was 
twenty-seven  years  old. 

Afterward  he  was  for  years  editor  of  the  Chicago  Mail ,  then 
the  Chicago  Post ,  and  on  March  17,  1878,  he  died  quite  suddenly 
at  the  Palmer  House,  Chicago.  One  of  the  last  efforts  of  his  life 
was  to  help  work  up  for  me  my  first  Evanston  audience  since  I  had 
left  the  University  four  years  earlier.  Temperance  was  a  thread¬ 
bare  theme  and  he  feared  I  might  not  be  greeted  by  the  attend¬ 
ance  that  is  the  most  grateful  of  all  to  a  speaker  when  it  consists 
of  his  or  her  own  towns-folk. 

But  I  had  a  fine  audience  in  our  own  church.  My  mother, 
my  brother’s  wife  and  their  four  children  were  all  present,  but 
where  was  he  who  had  cared  so  much  about  this  meeting  ? 

At  the  close  w7e  were  informed  that  he  had  been  taken  sud¬ 
denly,  but  not  at  all  dangerously  ill,  and  had  remained  in  the 
city,  but  would  come  home  next  day.  His  faithful  wife  drove 
in  at  once,  reaching  the  Palmer  House  at  midnight.  He  rallied 
her  on  her  needless  anxiety  and  asked  ‘  ‘  how  Frank  had  got 
along  ?  ”  When  she  told  him  of  the  meeting’s  success,  he  smiled 
and  used  a  favorite  phrase  of  his  (borrowed  from  a  song  about 
“  Brave  Wolfe,”  at  Quebec),  “  I  die  with  pleasure.” 

How  little  he  dreamed  of  leaving  us  was  shown  in  his  bright 
greeting  to  me  when  I  went  to  see  him  in  the  morning  and  our 
good  Dr.  Jewell  assured  me  he  would  be  able  to  go  home  by  the 
next  day,  and  advised  me  not  to  miss  the  appointments  I  had,  in 
company  with  Mrs.  S.  M.  I.  Henry,  at  Saginaw,  Mich.,  for  the 
next  day  but  one,  which  was  Sunday.  So  I  left  my  dear,  kind 
brother,  life-long  comrade  and  friend,  without  any  thought  of  the 
sorrow  that  was  so  near. 

Mrs.  Henry  and  I  had  what  ministers  call,  “a  good  time” 
in  our  meetings  on  the  Sabbath  day. 

Monday  at  family  prayers  in  the  Christian  home  where  we 
wTere  sheltered,  Mrs.  Henry  breathed  this  petition  : 

“  Grant,  Heavenly  Father,  that  each  one  of  us  may  this  morn¬ 
ing  so  find  our  balance  in  Thee  that  no  sin  or  sorrow  may  be  able 
to  surprise  us.” 

Going  upstairs  to  my  writing,  five  minutes  later,  I  heard 
the  door  bell  ring  and  a  telegram  was  put  into  my  hand.  This  has 
long  been  an  experience  so  frequent  as  to  cause  no  surprise,  but 


Brother' s  Death. 


367 


I  have  never  yet  opened  a  telegram  without  first  lifting  up  my 
heart  to  God  in  prayer.  What  need  I  had  to  do  so  now  !  The 
message  was  dated  Sunday  and  read  as  follows: 

“  Your  brother  Oliver  died  this  morning — Funeral  Tuesday.” 


I  read  it  aloud,  friends  being  in  the  hall,  and  crouched  upon 
the  stairs  without  a  cry,  like  one  who  had  been  struck.  They 
led  me  to  my  room,  and  my  saintly  Sister  Henry  took  me  in 
her  arms,  as  I  repeated  the  words  of  her  prayer,  and  we  knelt 
once  more  together.  I  shall  never  forget  the  tenderness  of  her 
voice  as  for  my  consolation  she  read  that  blessed  psalm,  ‘  ‘  Lord, 
thou  hast  been  our  dwelling-place  in  all  generations.” 

I  had  been  announced  to  conduct  a  temperance  prayer-meet¬ 
ing  that  afternoon.  The  Chicago  train  would  go  at  an  hour  that 
left  me  time  to  fulfill  the  engagement.  I  said,  ‘  ‘  He  would  have 
wished  me  to  do  this  ;  he  was  punctual  to  his  religious  duties 
all  this  blessed  year,  no  matter  what  might  come.”  And  so  I 
went  and  told  the  people  all  about  it  while  we  cried  together, 
praying  and  talking  of  a  better  life  which  is  an  heavenly.  They 
went  with  me  to  the  train  and  we  had  a  sort  of  meeting  in  the 
depot  while  we  waited,  and  as  I  departed  alone,  they  stood  there 
with  their  sorrowful  but  kindly  faces,  those  dear  new  friends  in 
Christ  Jesus,  and  sang: 


“  Rescue  the  perishing,  care  for  the  dying.”  * 

When  I  reached  my  sweet  Rest  Cottage  home,  there  stood 
my  mother,  seventy-four  years  old,  upon  the  steps.  He  was  the 
pride  and  darling  of  her  life,  and  I  had  almost  feared  to  see  her 
sorrow.  But  no,  her  dear  old  face  was  radiant  and  she  said, 
“  Praise  Heaven  with  me  —  I’ve  growm,  gray  praying  for  my  son — 
and  now  to  think  your  brother  Oliver  is  safe  with  God  !  ” 

I  went  up  the  street  to  his  pleasant  home  beside  the  College 
campus — 

“  Dead  he  lay  among  his  books, 

The  peace  of  God  was  in*his  looks,” 

but  the  dear  face  was  tired  and  worn.  His  last  words  to  his  wife 
had  been,  “All  your  prayers  for  me  are  answered;  I  have  a 
present,  perfect,  personal  Savior.  ’  ’ 

I - 

♦Afterward,  I  had  the  comfort  of  learning  that  a  young  and  gifted  man  that  day 
decided  in  the  meeting  to  be  a  missionary. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


CONSERVATIVES  AND  LIBERALS. 

I  was  much  taken  to  task  because  I  would  not  allow  my 
name  used  as  a  candidate  for  President  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  at  the 
Chicago  convention  in  1877,  and  the  papers  tried  to  make  out  that 
I  said,  “Nothing  but  a  unanimous  choice  would  induce  me  to 
accept  the  position.  ’  ’  The  facts  were  that  we  then  had  an  unpleas¬ 
ant  method  of  nominating  our  candidates  ;  namely,  by  means  of 
a  very  complimentary  speech  made  by  some  leading  orator.  Mrs. 
Foster  generously  made  such  a  speech  in  my  behalf,  although  I 
had  said  all  I  could  to  the  women  against  their  taking  such  action. 
A  friend  of  Mrs.  Wittenmeyer  then  rose  and  made  a  very  compli¬ 
mentary  speech  about  her,  and  put  her  in  nomination.  Then  I 
rose  and  said  I  would  not  allow  myself  to  come  forward  as  an 
opposing  candidate  when  the  President  of  the  society,  a  much 
older  woman  than  I  and  one  who  had  borne  the  burden  for  some 
years,  was  in  the  field,  and  I  withdrew  my  name. 

If  no  other  name  had  been  brought  up  I  would  not  have 
done  this,  and  the  next  year  but  one,  when  by  a  change  in  the 
constitution  we  had  done  away  with  the  viva  voce  nominations 
and  the  flowery,  complimentary  speeches,  I  did  not  object,  when 
elected  by  a  large  majority,  to  taking  the  position. 

In  1879,  at  Indianapolis,  I  was  elected  president  of  the 
National  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union. 

Two  policies  had  in  the  five  years’  evolution  of  the  Crusade 
movement  become  distinctly  outlined  under  the  names,  “  Conserv¬ 
ative  ’  ’  and  ‘ ‘  Eiberal.”  Our  honored  president,  Mrs.  Wittenmeyer, 
believed  in  holding  the  states  and  local  unions  to  strict  account, 
expecting  uniformity  of  organization  and  method  —  in  short, 
maintaining  strongly  the  central  power  of  the  National  Woman’s 
Christian  Temperance  Union.  She  also  vigorously  opposed  the 

(368) 


“  Liberal  ”  Policy  Inaugurated  in  1879.  369 

ballot  for  women.  In  opposition  to  this,  we  “Liberals”  inter¬ 
preted  the  constitution  of  our  society  on  the  laissez-faire  prin¬ 
ciple.  We  believed  in  making  very  few  requirements  of  the  state 
and  local  unions  ;  if  they  paid  their  small  dues  and  signed  the 
total  abstinence  pledge,  we  asked  no  more,  believing  that  the  less 
we  asked  the  more  we  should  get,  and  that  any  amount  of  elbow 
room  was  good  for  folks,  developed  their  peculiar  genius  and  kept 
them  hard  at  work  and  cheerful.  So  we  declared  for  state  rights 
and  intruded  not  at  all  upon  our  thrifty  auxiliaries,  save  that  we 
were  ready  to  go  to  them,  work  for  them  and  build  them  up  all 
that  we  could.  In  respect  to  woman’s  ballot  we  believed  it  was 
part  and  parcel  of  the  temperance  movement,  one  way  out  of  the 
wilderness  of  whisky  domination,  and  that  any  individual,  any 
state  or  local  union  ought  to  have  the  right  to  say  so  and  to  act 
accordingly. 

At  our  previous  convention  (Baltimore,  1878  )  we  had  de¬ 
bated  one  whole  day  over  this  question,  taking  it  up  in  two  parts 
as  follows : 

1.  Shall  we  indorse  the  ballot  for  women  as  a  temperance  measure  ? 

2.  Shall  our  official  organ  publish  accounts  of  work  within  our  societies 
along  this  line? 

The  debate  was  a  marvel  of  mingled  courtesy  and  cogency, 
at  the  close  of  which  the  first  question  was  decided  in  the  nega¬ 
tive,  but  the  second  affirmatively,  which  opened  the  columns  of 
our  paper,  and  henceforth  the  process  of  educating  our  women  in 
favor  of  the  ballot  went  forward  rapidly. 

At  Indianapolis  the  principles  of  the  liberal  wing  of  our 
society  became  dominant,  not  so  much  by  specific  declaration  as 
by  the  choice  of  leaders  who  incarnated  those  principles. 

The  number  of  delegates  at  this  convention  was  one  hun¬ 
dred  and  forty-eight  from  twenty  states,  no  Southern  state  save 
Maryland  being  represented.  Total  receipts  in  national  treas¬ 
ury  for  the  year,  $1,213.00. 

At  Boston  the  next  year,  there  were  one  hundred  and  seventy- 
seven  delegates  from  twenty-five  states,  and  the  receipts  were 
$2,048.00.  The  debate  begun  the  year  before  on  a  change  in  our 
mode  of  representation  was  earnestly  continued.  As  the  con¬ 
stitution  had  stood  from  the  begining,  each  state  was  entitled  to 
24 


370 


First  Animal  Address. 


as  many  delegatee  in  the  national  convention  as  it  had  repre¬ 
sentatives  in  Congress,  but  this  operated  unjustly  because  several 
states  having  the  largest  number  of  local  unions  had  fewer  con¬ 
gressional  districts  than  others  having  but  few  unions  ;  it  also  put 
a  premium  upon  unorganized  states  which  were  represented  on 
the  same  basis. 

The  liberal  party  held  that  representation  ought  to  be  on  a 
basis  of  paid  memberships,  but  the  conservatives  claimed  that 
‘  ‘  praying  not  paying  ’  ’  was  the  only  true  foundation  of  the  move¬ 
ment,  while  their  antagonists  declared  that  we  must  both  pray 
and  pay.  No  change  was  made  at  Boston  and  as  a  consequence 
the  work  was  greatly  hampered  financially.  But  at  Boston  the 
cumbrous  system  of  “standing  committees”  wras  abolished  and 
that  of  individual  superintendence  substituted  on  the  principle 
that  “  if  Noah  had  appointed  a  committee  the  ark  would  still  be 
on  the  stocks.”  The  departments  were  divided  into  Preventive, 
Educational,  Evangelistic,  Social,  Legal  and  Department  of 
Organization. 

Under  the  first  head  we  had  a  superintendent  of  Heredity 
and  Hygiene  ;  under  the  second,  a  superintendent  of  efforts  to 
secure  Scientific  Temperance  Instruction  in  the  public  schools 
(Mrs.  Mary  A.  Hunt)  ;  under  the  fifth  a  superintendent  of  Legis¬ 
lation  and  Petition  (then  Mrs.  J.  Ellen  Foster,  now  Mrs.  Ada 
Bittenbender),  etc.,  making  one  woman  responsible  for  one  work, 
and  giving  her  one  associate  in  each  state  and  one  in  each  local 
union.  The  plan  of  putting  a  portrait  of  Mrs.  Lucy  Webb  Playes 
in  the  White  House  as  a  Temperance  Memorial  was  here 
adopted  by  request  of  Rev.  Frederick  Merrick,  of  Ohio,  its 
originator. 

From  my  annual  address  at  Boston — my  first  as  President 
of  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U. — I  make  this  extract : 

Two-thirds  of  Christ’s  church  are  women,  whose  persuasive  voices  will 
be  a  re-iuforcement  quite  indispensable  to  the  evangelizing  agencies  of  the 
more  hopeful  future. 

A  horde  of  ignorant  voters,  committed  to  the  rum-power,  fastens  the 
dram-shop  like  a  leech  on  our  cominuuities  ;  but  let  the  Republic  take 
notice  that  our  unions  are  training  an  army  to  offset  this  horde,  one  which 
will  be  the  only  army  of  voters  specifically  educated  to  their  duty  which  has 
ever  yet  come  up  to  the  help  of  the  Lord  against  the  mighty.  For  slowly 


First  Allusion  to  Prohibition  Party.  371 

but  surely  the  reflex  influence  of  this  mighty  reform,  born  in  the  church 
and  nurtured  at  the  Crusade  altars,  is  educating  women  to  the  level  of  two 
most  solemn  and  ominous  ideas  :  1st.  That  they  ought  to  vote.  2nd.  That 
they  ought  to  vote  against  grog-shops.  The  present  generation  will  not  pass 
away  until  in  many  of  the  states  this  shall  all  be  fulfilled,  and  then  America, 
beloved  Mother  of  thrice  grateful  daughters,  thou  shalt  find  rallying  to  thy 
defense  and  routing  the  grimy  hosts  that  reel  about  thee  now,  an  army  of 
voters  which  absenteeism  will  not  decimate  and  money  cannot  buy.  Under 
the  influence  of  our  societies  may  be  safely  tried  the  great  experiment  that 
agitates  the  age,  and  which  upon  the  world’s  arena  most  of  us  have  feared. 
When  we  desire  this  “  home  protection  ”  weapon,  American  manhood  will 
place  it  in  our  hands.  Though  we  have  not  taken  sides  as  yet,  in  politics, 
we  cannot  be  insensible  to  the  consideration  shown  us  in  the  platform  of  the 
Prohibition  party — a  prophecy  of  that  chivalry  of  justice  which  shall  yet 
afford  us  a  still  wider  recognition.  These  benign  changes  will  not  come 
suddenly,  but  as  the  result  of  a  profound  change  in  the  convictions  of  the 
thoughtful  and  conscientious,  followed  by  such  a  remoulding  of  public  sen¬ 
timent  as  this  class  always  brings  about  when  once  aroused. 

At  Boston  the  ballot  for  woman  as  a  weapon  for  the  protection 
of  her  home  wTas  indorsed,  and  the  action  of  the  president  in  open¬ 
ing  official  headquarters  in  New  York  City  was  confirmed.  Mrs. 
Caroline  B.  Buell  was  elected  corresponding  secretary,  an  office 
which  she  still  retains. 

In  the  spring  of  1881,  following  this  convention,  I  wrent  to 
Washington  to  be  present  at  the  inauguration  of  General  Garfield 
and  to  meet  the  commission  of  the  Mrs.  Hayes’  Temperance  Me¬ 
morial  of  which  I  was  president.  The  Woman’s  Christian  Tem¬ 
perance  Union  of  the  North — it  wTas  then  practically  non-existent 
at  the  South — had  stood  solidly  for  the  Republican  candidate 
whom  we  then  believed  to  be  a  friend  of  total  abstinence  and  pro¬ 
hibition.  His  name  was  cheered  whenever  mentioned  in  the 
Boston  convention,  and  being  personally  acquainted  with  him,  I 
had  written  him  at  Mentor,  immediately  after  his  nomination,  that 
if  he  would  hold  to  total  abstinence  during  the  campaign,  he  might 
count  on  our  support — although  Neal  Dow  was  in  the  field,  and  I 
had  been  invited,  but  declined,  to  go  to  the  Prohibition  convention 
at  Cleveland.  For  I  had  not  then  beheld,  therefore  was  not  dis¬ 
obedient  to,  the  heavenly  vision  of  political  as  well  as  legal  suasion 
for  the  liquor  traffic.  The  disappointment  of  our  temperance 
women  was  great  over  the  reply  of  President  Garfield,  when,  on 
March  8,  we  went  to  the  White  House  and  I  presented  the  pict- 


372 


First  Visit  to  the  Sunny  South. 


ure  of  Mrs.  Hayes.  His  manner  seemed  to  us  constrained.  He 
was  not  the  brotherly  Disciple  preacher  of  old,  but  the  adroit  poli¬ 
tician  ‘  ‘  in  the  hands  of  his  friends  ’  ’  and  perfectly  aware  that  the 
liquor  camp  held  the  balance  of  power. 

Surprised  and  pained  by  his  language,  we  at  once  adjourned  to 
the  Temple  Hotel  (conducted  by  Mrs.  S.  D.  Da  Fetra,  one  of  our 
members)  and  such  a  prayer-meeting  I  have  seldom  attended. 
The  women  poured  out  their  souls  to  God  in  prayer  that  total 
abstinence  might  be  enthroned  at  the  White  House,  that  a  chief 
magistrate  might  come  unto  the  kingdom  who  would  respond  to 
the  plea  of  the  nation’s  home-people  .seeking  protection  for  their 
tempted  loved  ones. 

From  Washington  I  started  for  the  South,  accompanied  by 
Mrs.  Georgia  Hulse  McLeod  of  Baltimore,  a  native  of  Tallahassee, 
Fla.,  a  gifted  writer  and  corresponding  secretary  of  our  society 
in  Maryland.  I  had  also  with  me  my  faithful  Anna  Gordon  and 
her  sister  Bessie.  In  the  three  months  that  followed  we  visited 
nearly  one  hundred  towns  and  cities  of  the  South,  and  I  have 
made  four  trips  since  then,  attending,  in  different  years,  a  state 
temperance  convention  in  almost  every  one  of  the  fourteen  South¬ 
ern  states.  By  this  means  I  have  become  acquainted  with  the 
men  and  women  who  lead  the  movement  there,  and  so  know 
them  to  be,  in  the  old  New  England  phrase,  “just  our  sort  of 
folks.”  The  Methodist  church  is  in  the  van,  and  here  I  found 
my  firmest  friends.  Good  Bishop  Wightman,  when  not  able  to 
sit  up,  wrote  me  letters  of  introduction  as  hearty  as  our  own 
Northern  bishops  would  have  penned,  and  they  proved  the  “  open 
sesame  ”  to  many  an  influential  home  in  the  Gulf  states  ;  brought 
many  a  pastor  out  from  the  quiet  of  his  study  to  “  work  me  up  a 
meeting”;  conciliated  the  immense  influence  of  church  journal¬ 
ism  and  paved  the  way  for  the  recognition  of  the  white  ribbon 
movement  throughout  the  Southern  states.  I  would  gladly  name 
the  noble  leaders  who  thus  stood  by  me  both  in  Methodist  and 
other  churches,  but  the  roll  would  be  too  long.  It  is  written  on 
my  heart,  where  it  will  never  grow  dim. 

I  have  always  believed  that  I  had  an  unexpected  element  of 
power  in  my  name.  The  first  night  at  Charleston  and  in  each 
Southern  audience  front  then  till  now,  lovely  women  came  forward 
to  take  my  hand  and  said,  “  Are  you  Madam  Emma  Willard,  of 


Madam  Emma  Willard' s  Name. 


373 


Troy?”  or  else,  “Are  you  her  daughter?”  Often  and  again 
have  I  been  told,  “  We  came  to  hear  you  because  our  mothers 
were  educated  in  Mrs.  Willard’s  school,  and  we  wanted  to  see  if 
you  were  kin  to  her.  ’  ’  Once  I  have  been  introduced  as  ‘  ‘  Emma 
Willard,”  and  more  than  once,  gentlemen  old  enough  to  be  my 
ancestors  have  shaken  my  hand  with  vigor,  saying,  “  We  studied 
your  United  States  History  when  we  were  little  boys.”  Many  a 
time  in  the  passing  crowd  I  was  unable  to  contradict  these  dec¬ 
larations  and  often  I  smiled  internally  and  thought,  “  My  people 
love  to  have  it  so,”  but  whenever  the  opportunity  presented  itself, 
I  frankly  discounted  my  standing  and  crushed  their  hopes  by  the 
mild  announcement  that  “Madam  Emma  Willard  was  the  second 
cousin  by  marriage  of  my  great-grandfather  !  ”  I  have  that 
elegant  lady’s  historic  picture,  the  “Temple  of  Time,”  on  my 
study  walls,  her  life  on  my  shelves,  and  have  dutifully  visited  her 
relatives  in  Troy ;  but  I  did  not  thank  them  so  warmly  for  the 
good  she  had  done  me  as  I  would  now,  for  that  was  before  the 
events  occurred  which,  at  the  South,  showed  me  how  truly  “a 
good  name  is  rather  to  be  chosen  than  great  riches,  and  loving 
favor  than  silver  and  gold.  ’  ’ 

That  trip  was  the  most  unique  of  all  my  history.  It  “  recon¬ 
structed  ’  ’  me.  Everywhere  the  Southern  white  people  desired 
me  to  speak  to  the  colored.  In  Charleston  I  had  an  immense 
audience  of  them  in  the  M.  E.  Church,  North  ;  in  New  Orleans, 
Mrs.  Judge  Merrick,  a  native  of  Louisiana,  whose  husband  was 
Chief  Justice  in  that  state  under  the  Confederacy,  invited  the 
Northern  teachers  to  her  home,  and  wrote  me  with  joy  that  the 
Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  would  yet  solve  the  prob¬ 
lem  of  good  understanding  between  sections.  I  was  present  re¬ 
peatedly  in  the  gallery  when  legislatures  of  the  Gulf  States  voted 
money  for  negro  education,  and  for  schools  founded  by  North¬ 
erners.  “  We  were  suspicious  of  the  Northern  school-teachers  at 
first,”  said  SoutheAi  friends  to  me,  “we  thought  they  had  come 
down  here,  as  the  carpet-baggers  did,  to  serve  their  pockets  and 
their  ambitions  by  our  means,  but  we  don’t  think  so  now.” 

I  found  the  era  of  good  feeling  had  indeed  set  in,  and  that 
nothing  helped  it  forward  faster  than  the  work  of  temperance,  that 
nothing  would  liberate  the  suppressed  colored  vote  so  soon  as  to 
divide  the  white  vote  on  the  issues,  ‘  ‘  wet  ’  ’  and  ‘  ‘  dry  ’  ’ ;  that  the 


t 


374 


The  New  Faith  within  Me. 


South  “Solid”  for  prohibition  of  the  liquor  traffic  might  be 
exchanged  for  the  South  Solid  against  the  North,  by  such  a  re¬ 
alignment  of  those  moving  armies  of  civilization  popularly  called 
“  parties,”  as  would  put  the  temperance  men  of  North  and  South 
in  the  same  camp.  Therefore  it  was  borne  in  upon  my  spirit  that 
I  must  declare  in  my  next  annual  address,  as  President  of  the 
National  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union,  the  new  faith 
that  was  within  me.* 

*  To  avoid  repetition,  descriptions  of  the  constitutional  amendment  campaigns,  and 
many  other  phases  of  the  work,  besides  personal  sketches  of  the  workers,  are  omitted  in 
this  volume,  having  been  given  at  length  in  “  Woman  and  Temperance.” 


VII 


“As  ONCE  He  sat  over  against  the  treasury,  so  now 
Christ  sits  over  against  the  ballot  box  to  see  what 
His  disciples  cast  therein.” 


Mary  Allen  West, 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE  HOME  PROTECTION  PARTY. 

My  purpose  to  adopt  the  new  faitli  gained  power  at  the  Sara¬ 
toga  Convention  in  the  summer  of  1881.  Called  by  the  National 
Temperance  Society,  of  which  Hon.  William  E.  Dodge  was  presi¬ 
dent,  this  great  meeting  was  “non-partisan”  in  action,  but  not 
in  utterance.  There  I  first  met  James  Black,  of  Eancaster,  Pa., 
the  James  G.  Birney  of  the  new  abolition  war,  in  which  Northern 
and  Southern  bayonets  point  the  same  way  ;  John  B.  Gough 
was  present,  at  his  best,  and  Rev.  J.  O.  Peck,  of  Brooklyn,  out¬ 
did  himself  in  eloquence  ;  Rev.  Dr.  A.  J.  Gordon,  of  Boston,  was 
chairman,  and  three  hundred  and  thirty-seven  delegates  were 
present,  representing  many  states.  A  noticeable  feature  was  the 
presence  of  accredited  delegates  from  the  General  Assembly  of 
the  United  Presbyterian  Church,  the  Reformed  Presbyterian 
Synod,  the  Eutheran  Synod,  etc.  Two  ladies  were  designated  to 
escort  Doctor  Gordon  to  the  chair,  and  for  the  first  time  in 
history,  a  lady,  who  had  been  chosen  as  vice-president,  presided 
over  the  deliberations  of  a  convention  made  up  chiefly  of  men. 
The  keen,  clear  logic  of  those  who  declared  in  the  convention 
their  conviction  that  the  temperance  question  must  follow  the 
liquor  question  into  politics,  the  earnest  talks  I  had  with  leaders, 
the  fervent  religious  spirit  of  the  convention,  confirmed  me 
unchangeably  in  my  new  political  departure.  To  me,  the  central 
figure  of  the  scene  was  James  Black,  the  Presbyterian,  with  his 
noble  gray  head,  his  pure,  true  face,  his  sturdy  figure,  as  he  stood 
before  us  all  on  the  first  morning  with  the  Bible  in  his  hand,  and 
read  God’s  decree  of  downfall  for  despoilers  of  the  people,  and 
triumph  for  the  truth.  I  shall  never  forget  the  night  before  the 
close  of  the  convention,  when  I,  who  am  one  of  the  “seven 
sleepers,”  could  not  sleep  ;  but,  while  dear  Mrs.  Carse,  who  was 
with  me,  peacefully  reposed,  I  thought  through  to  the  conclusion 
of  my  personal  duty  and  delight  to  take  sides  for  the  Prohibition 
party.  It  was  a  solemn  and  exalted  hour  in  which  my  brain 

(375) 


376 


Resolved  on  a  New  Party. 


teemed  with  the  sweet  reasonableness  of  such  a  course,  and  my 
conscience  rejoiced  in  its  triumph  over  considerations  of  expedi¬ 
ency.  Nothing  has  ever  disturbed  the  tranquil  assurance  that  I 
was  then  helped  to  make  a  logical  and  wise  decision  inspired 
from  Heaven. 

Two  months  later,  at  Take  Bluff,  Ill.,  thirty  miles  north  of 
Chicago,  we  held  our  usual  Temperance  Convocation.  This 
beautiful  spot,  on  the  sunset  shore  of  Take  Michigan,  has  long 
been  famous  as  the  chief  rallying  place  of  Temperance  leaders  on 
this  continent,  and  has  borne  a  part  unequaled  in  influence  by 
that  of  any  other  rendezvous  of  the  Prohibition  army. 

Coming  here  with  a  heart  full  of  new  love  for  the  South  and 
enkindled  perceptions  touching  what  might  be  done,  I  heard  a 
reformed  man  of  Illinois,  Captain  Tothrop,  of  Champaign,  make  a 
most  touching  plea  for  better  protection  from  the  legalized  drink 
curse.  As  he  left  the  grounds  he  shook  hands  with  me  and  said, 
“Don’t  let  this  convocation  end  in  talk — we  want  to  hear  that 
you  folks  who  stand  at  the  front  have  done  something  ;  taken  a 
forward  step  against  the  liquor  power.’’ 

His  worn  face  and  intense  earnestness  made  a  deep  impres¬ 
sion  on  my  conscience. 

“  By  the  help  of  God  we  will  do  something,”  I  said  in  my 
heart  and  immediately  sought  Dr.  Jutkins,  Colonel  Bain  and 
John  B.  Finch,  who  that  year  came  for  the  first  time  to  Take 
Bluff  and  captured  everybody  by  his  great  gifts  as  an  orator. 

I  told  them  what  I  had  heard  from  the  reformed  man  ;  of 
the  thoughts  and  purposes  that  came  to  me  at  Saratoga  ;  of  the 
stirring  in  my  spirit  when  my  brave  cousin,  Willard  Robinson, 
also  a  reformed  man,  who  signed  the  pledge  at  one  of  my  meetings 
in  Spencerport,  N.  Y.,  had  said  this  very  year,  “  Cousin  Frank, 
you  people  ought  to  go  into  politics  ;  you’ll  never  succeed  until 
you  do.  I’ve  got  where  I  write  my  own  ticket  and  put  it  in  all 
alone  for  men  who,  if  they  were  but  voted  into  power,  would  out¬ 
law  the  saloon.” 

My  temperance  brothers  listened  and  gave  heed.  What  had 
been  tutoring  them  for  this  same  hour,  I  do  not  know  ;  the  living 
can  speak  for  themselves.  I  do  not  profess  to  give  all  the  links  in 
the  chain  that  led  us,  then  and  there,  to  found  the  “  Home  Pro¬ 
tection  Party,  ’  ’  but  only  those  that  are  most  clearly  impressed  on 


Home  Protection  Movement  in  Politics. 


377 


my  own  mind.  As  a  result  of  our  deliberations  at  this  summer 
camp,  an  address  was  issued  to  the  temperance  people  of  the 
country.  R.  W.  Nelson,  of  The  Liberator ,  Chicago — a  bright 
young  man,  whose  paper  was  devoted  to  political  prohibition, 
was  prominent  in  all  this  movement  and  his  journal  gave  us  at 
once  what  we  needed  most,  a  medium  of  direct  communication 
issuing  from  a  metropolitan  city. 

A  committee  on  organization  was  subsequently  appointed,  a 
form  of  constitution  for  Home  Protection  clubs  prepared  and  the 
co-operation  of  all  Prohibition  leaders  sought. 

On  the  13th  of  March,  1882,  a  Call  for  a  national  convention 
on  the  23d  of  the  following  August,  to  be  held  in  Chicago,  was 
issued  by  Gideon  T.  Stewart,  chairman  of  the  Prohibition  Reform 
party  of  the  United  States  . 

In  the  autumn  following  the  Lake  Bluff  Convocation,  our 
National  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  met  in  Wash¬ 
ington,  D.  C.  When  I  prepared  my  annual  address,  this  thought 
came  to  me  :  ‘  ‘  For  you  to  favor  the  Prohibition  party  as  an  indi¬ 
vidual  is  one  thing,  and  to  ask  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temper¬ 
ance  Union  in  your  official  address  to  indorse  that  party,  is  quite 
another ;  are  you  going  to  do  it  ?  Such  action  will  cost  you 
much  good-will  and  many  votes.”  But  a  voice  from  loftier 
regions  said  :  “  You  ought  to  declare  for  the  party  off  dally  as  well 

as  individually .”  I  knelt  to  pray,  and  rose  to  write  as  follows, 
without  one  misgiving  : 

Bee^ved  Sisters  and  Co-workers — When  the  National  Prohibition 
party  held  its  convention  in  Cleveland  in  1880,  women  were  invited  to  attend 
as  delegates  ;  but  while  I  admired  the  progressive  spirit  thus  indicated,  it 
seemed  to  me  clearly  my  duty  not  to  go.  Always  profoundly  interested  in 
politics,  as  the  mightiest  force  on  earth  except  Christianity,  and  trained  to 
be  a  staunch  Republican,  both  my  education  and  sympathies  were  arrayed 
on  Garfield’s  side;  moreover ,  I  labored  under  the  hallucination  that  the 
South  secretly  waited  its  opportunity  to  reopen  the  issues  of  the  war. 
During  all  that  stormy  summer  of  the  presidential  campaign,  I  did  not  hear 
Neal  Dow’s  candidacy  spoken  of  with  interest  by  the  workers  of  the 
Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union,  and  yet  we  all  honored  and  gloried 
in  that  brave  father  of  the  Maine  Law.  In  contrast  to  the  apathy  with 
which  we  regarded  the  “Third  Party’’  movement,  you  will  remember  the 
profound  enthusiasm  that  greeted  General  Garfield’s  name  at  our  annual 
meeting  in  Boston,  and  that,  later  on,  we  hailed  his  election  as  an  answered 
prayer.  Dear  sisters,  since  then,  by  your  commission,  I  have  visited  the 


37<S  First  Declaration  in  Favor  of  a  Political  Alliance. 


Southern  States,  and  met  in  every  one  of  them  representatives  and  leaders 
of  opinion.  I  have  seen  their  acceptance  in  good  faith  of  the  issues  of  the 
war — a  good  faith  sufficiently  attested  by  the  great  loyalty  they  invariably 
manifested  toward  President  Garfield,  in  spite  of  his  army  record,  his  radical 
utterances  in  Congress,  and  the  uncompromising  tone  of  his  clear-cut  inau¬ 
gural.  I  have  seen  Northern  capital  pouring  into  those  once  disaffected 
states  in  untold  millions,  and  I  know  there  is  no  stronger  bridge  across  the 
“  bloody  chasm”  than  this  one  woven  out  of  national  coin,  and  supported 
by  the  iron-jointed  cables  of  self-interest  ;  I  have  seen  their  legislatures 
making  state  appropriations  for  the  education  of  the  freedmen,  and  helping 
to  sustain  those  “  colored  schools  ”  whose  New  England  teachers  they  once 
despised  ;  I  have  learned  how  ex-masters  cheered  to  the  echo  the  utterances 
of  their  ex-slaves  in  the  great  Prohibition  convention  of  North  Carolina, 
and  my  heart  has  glowed  with  the  hope  of  a  real  “home  government” 
for  the  South,  and  a  “color  line”  broken,  not  by  bayonets  nor  repudia- 
tionists,  but  by  ballots  from  white  hands  and  black,  for  prohibitory  law. 
Seeing  is  believing,  and  on  that  sure  basis  I  believe  the  South  is  ready  for  a 
party  along  the  lines  of  longitude, — a  party  that  shall  wipe  Mason  and 
Dixon’s  line  out  of  the  heart  as  well  as  off1  the  map,  weld  the  Anglo-Saxons 
of  the  New  World  into  one  royal  family,  and  give  us  a  really  re-United 
States.  With  what  deep  significance  is  this  belief  confirmed  by  the  South’s 
tender  sympathy  in  the  last  pathetic  summer,  and  the  unbroken  group  of 
states  that  so  lately  knelt  around  our  fallen  hero’s  grave  !  But  this  new 
party  cannot  bear  the  name  of  Republican  or  Democrat.  Neither  victor 
nor  vanquished  would  accept  the  old  war-cry  of  a  section;  besides,  “the 
party  of  moral  ideas  ”  has  ceased  to  have  a  distinctive  policy.  Was  its  early 
motto,  “Free  Territory”?  We  have  realized  it.  Later  did  it  declare  the 
Union  must  be  preserved  and  slavery  abolished?  Both  have  been  done. 
Did  it  demand  negro  enfranchisement  and  the  passage  of  a  bill  of  Civil 
Rights  ?  Both  are  accomplished  facts,  so  far  as  they  can  be  until  educa¬ 
tion  completes  the  desired  work.  Was  the  redemption  of  our  financial 
pledges  essential  to  good  faith  ?  That  noble  record  of  the  Republican 
party  cannot  be  erased.  If  we  contemplate  questions  still  unsettled,  as 
Civil  Service  Reform,  both  parties  claim  to  desire  it ;  or  a  National  Fund 
for  Southern  Education — each  deems  it  necessary.  But  when  we  name  the 
greatest  issue  now  pending  on  this,  or  any,  continent — the  prohibition  of 
the  manufacture  and  sale  of  intoxicating  liquors  as  a  drink — behold,  the 
Republicans  of  Maine,  New  Hampshire  and  Vermont  vote  for,  and  the 
Republicans  of  North  Carolina,  Ohio  and  Illinois  against  it,  while  the 
Democrats  of  Kansas  oppose,  and  of  South  Carolina  favor  it !  Now,  I 
blame  neither  party  for  this  inconsistency  ;  it  is  simply  the  hand- writing 
on  the  wall,  which  tells  that  both  are  weighed  in  the  balance  and  found 
wanting.  For  they  are  formed  of  men  who,  while  they  thought  alike  and 
fought  alike  on  many  great  questions,  on  this  greatest  of  all  questions  are 
hopelessly  divided,  and  a  “  house  divided  against  itself  cannot  stand.”  This 
is  saying  nothing  whatever  against  the  house  ;  it  is  recognizing  the  law  of 
gravitation,  that  is  all. 


Illinois  W.  C.  T.  U.  the  Pioneer. 


379 


Believing  that  the  hour  had  come  for  us,  the  Woman  s  Christian  Tem¬ 
perance  Union  of  Illinois,  at  its  annual  meeting,  nearly  two  months  ago, 
indorsed  the  action  of  the  Lake  Bluff  Convocation,  held  a  few  days  earlier, 
and  composed  of  representative  temperance  men  and  women  from  twelve 
different  states. 

In  many  a  meeting  of  our  temperance  women  I  have  seen  the  power  of 
the  Highest  manifest,  but  in  none  has  the  glow  of  Crusade  fire  been  so 
bright  as  when  these  daughters  of  heroic  sires  who,  in  the  early  days  of 
the  great  party  whose  defection  we  deplore,  endured  reproach  without  the 
camp,  solemnly  declared  their  loyalty  to  the  Home  Protection  party,  wherein 
dwelleth  righteousness.  Let  me  read  you  the  statement  of  doctrine  to  which 
we  women  of  Illinois  subscribed  : 

“We  recommend  that,  looking  to  the  composition  of  the  next  legisla¬ 
ture,  we  request  and  aid  the  Home  Protection  party  to  put  in  nomination  in 
each  district  a  Home  Protection  candidate,  committed  not  more  by  his  specific 
promise  than  by  his  well-known  character,  to  vote  for  the  submission  of  a 
constitutional  amendment,  giving  the  full  ballot  to  the  women  of  Illinois  as 
a  means  of  protection  to  their  homes. 

“Finally,  to  these  advance  positions  we  have  been  slowly  and  surely 
brought  by  the  logic  of  events  and  the  argument  of  defeat  in  our  seven 
years’  march  since  the  Crusade.  We  have  patiently  appealed  to  existing 
parties,  only  to  find  our  appeals  disregarded.  We  now  appeal  to  the  man¬ 
hood  of  our  state  to  go  forward  in  the  name  of  ‘  God  and  Home  and  Native 
Land.’  ” 

Ten  days  later  the  Liquor  League  of  Illinois  held  its  convention,  the 
day  being  universally  observed  by  our  unions  in  that  state  in  fervent  prayer 
that  God  would  send  confusion  and  defeat  as  the  sequel  of  their  machina¬ 
tions.  Let  me  read  you  their  declaration  : 

“  Resolved ,  That  the  district  executive  committee  be  instructed  to  make 
a  vigorous  fight  against  all  such  candidates  for  the  General  Assembly,  no 
matter  what  political  party  they  may  belong  to,  who  cannot  be  fully  relied 
upon  to  vote  in  favor  of  personal  liberty  and  an  equal  protection  of  ours, 
with  all  other  legitimate  business  interests.” 

They  want  protection,  too  !  and  they  know  the  legislature  alone  can 
give  it.  But  we  know,  as  the  result  of  our  local  Home  Protection  ordinance, 
under  which  women  have  voted  in  nearly  a  dozen  widely  separated  locali¬ 
ties  of  Illinois,  and  have  voted  overwhelmingly  against  license,  that  our 
enfranchisement  means  confusion  and  defeat  to  the  liquor  sellers.  There¬ 
fore,  since  for  this  we  have  prayed,  we  must  take  our  places  at  the  front  and 
say,  with  the  greatest  reformer  of  the  sixteenth  century  : 

“  Here  I  stand.  I  can  do  no  other.  God  help  me.  Amen!” 

Here,  then,  at  the  nation’s  capital,  let  us  declare  our  allegiance  ;  here 
let  us  turn  our  faces  toward  the  beckoning  future  ;  here,  where  the  liquor 
traffic  pours  in  each  year  its  revenue  of  gold,  stained  with  the  blood  of  our 
dearest  and  best,  let  us  set  up  our  Home  Protection  standard  in  the  name 
of  the  Lord ! 

But  the  convention  took  no  action ;  the  sentiment  of  the 
society  was  not  yet  ripe  for  the  declaration  I  so  earnestly  desired. 


* 


380  A  Secession  that  Did  Not  Secede. 

Of  this  convention,  held  in  Foundry  M.  E.  Church,  the  most 
notable  feature  was  the  large  attendance  from  the  Southern  states, 
a  delegation  of  thirty  or  more  from  a  majority  of  these  states, 
being  present,  headed  by  Mrs.  Sallie  F.  Chapin. 

At  this  convention  the  following  resolution  was  adopted  : 

‘  ‘  Resolved \  That  wisdom  dictates  the  Do-every  thing  policy  ; 
Constitutional  Amendment,  where  the  way  is  open  for  it ;  ‘  Home 
Protection  ’  [i.  e.,  the  vote  forwomeg.  on  the  temperance  question 
only],  where  Home  Protection  is  the  strongest  rallying  cry  ; 
Equal  Franchise,  where  the  votes  of  women  joined  to  those  of 
men  can  alone  give  stability  to  temperance  legislation.” 

The  Plan  of  Work  Committee  also  recommended  : 

“A  Committee  on  Franchise  whose  duty  it  shall  be  to  fur¬ 
nish  advice,  instruction  and  assistance  to  states  that  so  desire,  in 
inaugurating  measures  for  securing  and  using  woman’s  ballot  in 
the  interest  of  temperance.” 

The  Southern  delegation  requested  permission  not  to  vote 
upon  these  measures,  but  showed  a  degree  of  tolerance  not  to 
have  been  expected  of  them  at  their  first  convention.  Besides, 
Susan  B.  Anthony  was  present  as  a  visitor,  was  introduced  on 
motion  of  a  delegate  and  publicly  kissed  by  an  enthusiastic 
Quaker  lady  from  the  West.  All  this  had  alarmed  the  conserv¬ 
atives,  and  a  few  of  them  withdrew,  stating  that  they  could  no 
longer  keep  us  company. 

The  New  York  Tribune ,  which  had  never  reported  our  work, 
nor  shown  the  least  interest  in  our  proceedings  except  as  an  antag¬ 
onist,  now  came  out  with  displayed  headlines  announcing  that  our 
society  had  “  split  in  two.”  The  facts  were  that  out  of  a  total  of 
two  hundred  and  eighteen  delegates,  only  twelve  to  fifteen  dele¬ 
gates  left  us.  They  made  immediate  overtures  to  the  Southern 
women  to  join  them,  stating  that  “then  there  would  be  a  con¬ 
servative  movement  divested  of  the  radicalism  that  was  destroy¬ 
ing  this  one  ”  ;  but  the  Southern  ladies  said,  “  they  had  seceded 
once,  and  found  it  did  n’t  work.”  .  Not  one  of  them  joined  the 
malcontents,  but  the  latter  formed  themselves  into  the  “  National 
Woman’s  Evangelical  Temperance  Union,”  which  had,  perhaps, 
a  dozen  auxiliaries,  but  soon  died  for  lack  of  members. 

At  this  convention  the  constitution  was  so  changed  that 
actual  membership  became  the  basis  of  representation  instead  of, 


« 


Mission  and  Corn-mission.  ^8r 

1 

as  heretofore,  allowing  so  many  delegates  to  each  congressional 
district,  no  matter  how  few  its  white  ribbon  women. 

Newr  women  came  to  us  continually  with  bright  ideas  about 
the  work.  Personal  initiative  was  at  a  premium  and  a  new 
department  usually  developed  from  the  advent  of  a  woman  with 
a  mission,  to  whom,  after  a  study  of  her  character  and  reputation, 
wre  gave  a  corn-mission.  We  thus  conserved  enthusiasm  and 
attached  experts  to  our  society. 


CHAPTER  II. 


NATIONAL  CONVENTIONS. 

In  August  of  1882,  a  “Home  Protection  Convention”  met 
in  Chicago,  to  which  rallied  the  “  old  liners  ”  as  well  as  the  new 
converts.  There  were  present  three  hundred  and  forty-one  dele¬ 
gates  from  twenty-two  states.  A  substantial  reorganization  of 
the  party  followed,  the  name  becoming  “  Prohibition  Home  Pro¬ 
tection  Party.”  Gideon  T.  Stewart,  of  Ohio,  was  made  chair¬ 
man  of  the  national  committee,  and  Rev.  Dr.  Jutkins,  secretary". 
I  there  became  officially  related  to  a  political  party  as  a  member 
of  its  central  committee  and  have  been  thus  related  almost  ever 
since.  A  new  force  -was  added  to  the  Prohibitionists  by  means  of 
this  convention,  chiefly  drawn  from  the  Crusade  movement  and 
consisting  of  men  and  women  who  had  dearly  loved  the  Repub¬ 
lican  party  and  who  retired  from  it  with  unaffected  sorrow. 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year  I  renewed  the  political  attack, 
closing  my  annual  address  before  our  National  Woman’s  Chris¬ 
tian  Temperance  Union  Convention  in  Louisville,  Ky.,  with 
these  words : 

Protection  must  be  administered  through  a  mighty  executive  force  and 
we  call  that  force  a  party.  Happily  for  us,  what  was  our  earnest  expectation 
last  year,  is  our  realization  to-day.  The  Prohibition  Home  Protection  Party 
stands  forth  as  woman’s  answered  prayer.  In  the  great  convention  of  last 
August  at  Chicago,  where  three  hundred  and  forty-one  delegates  represented 
twenty-two  states,  where  North  and  South  clasped  hands  in  a  union  never 
to  be  broken,  we  felt  that  the  brave  men  w7ho  there  combined  their  energy 
and  faith  were  indeed  come  unto  the  kingdom  for  such  a  time  as  this. 

“The  right  is  always  expedient,”  and  the  note  of  warning  which  this 
non-partisan  convention  may  sound  in  the  ears  of  partisans  will  serve  the 
cause  of  constitutional  amendment  far  better  than  the  timid  policy  of  silence. 
It  will  help,  not  hinder,  our  onward  march  ;  for  we  must  each  year  fall  back- 

(382) 


Our  First  Political  Resolution.  383 

ward  if  we  do  not  advance.  God’s  law  of  growth  does  not  exempt  the 
Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union.  Therefore  I  call  to  you  ©nee  more, 
sisters  beloved,  “  Let  Us  Go  Forward !  ”  As  we  now  proceed  with  the 
duties  in  whose  sacred  name  wTe  are  met,  let  it  be  said  of  us  as  of  a  gifted 
Southern  statesman,  whose  biography  I  have  read  in  the  Courier -Journal, 
since  coming  here:  “  He  never  questions  the  motives  of  men.  He  always 
argues  the  merits  of  the  case.”  As  the  great  general  said  to  the  boatman, 
so  the  temperance  cause  is  saying  here  to  us,  ‘  ‘  Remember,  you  carry  Caesar 
and  his  fortunes.”  God  grant  that  we  may  be  so  wise  and  gentle  that  the 
cause  we  love  shall  not  be  wounded  in  the  house  of  its  friends. 

‘  ‘  We  have  no  time  to  waste 
In  critic’s  sneer  or  cynic’s  bark, 

Quarrel  or  reprimand ; 

’  Twill  soon  be  dark  ; 

Then  choose  thine  aim 

And  may  God  speed  the  mark.” 

But  I  saw  that  the  convention  was  reluctant  to  make  this 
new  departure.  Profoundly  convinced  that  it  ought  to  do  so,  I 
sought  my  friend,  Mrs.  L.  D.  Carhart,  then  president  of  Iowa 
Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union,  and  asked  her  to  write 
a  resolution  bearing  on  the  subject.  She  told  me  afterward  that 
she  went  alone  into  an  undisturbed  corner  of  the  church,  lifted 
up  her  heart  to  God  in  prayer,  and  wrote  the  following,  which 
was  adopted  with  practical  unanimity: 

“  Resolved ,  That  we  rejoice  in  the  day  that  gives  recognition 
to  our  prohibition  principles  by  political  partisans  and  we  will 
endeavor  to  influence  the  best  men  in  all  communities  to  commit 
themselves  to  that  party,  by  whatever  name  called,  that  shall 
give  to  them  the  best  embodiment  of  prohibition  principles,  and 
will  most  surely  protect  our  homes.  ” 

Nothing  is  truer  than  that  most  people  are  more  afraid  of 
words  than  of  ideas,  and  as  this  resolution  avoided  naming  any 
party,  while  really  pointing  one  out  by  its  description,  the  con¬ 
vention  passed  it  with  very  little  difficulty. 

At  this  convention,  Our  Union  was  consolidated  with  The 
Signal  and  removed  to  Chicago.  The  Flower  Mission,  Kitchen 
Garden  and  other  departments  of  work  were  added,  and  prejudices 
against  the  public  work  of  women  were  broken  down  as  never 
before  among  the  Southern  people.  The  number  of  delegates 
present  was  one  hundred  and  forty-six,  from  twenty-seven  states. 
Receipts  from  state  auxiliaries,  $4,046.  The  next  year  we  called 

“our  temperance  round-up,” 

borrowing  the  expressive  phrase  of  the  Western  plains.  I  was 


384  Convention  in  a  Parlor  and  Reception  in  a7i  Omnibus . 

determined  that  the  completion  of  the  first  Gospel  Temperance 
Decade  should  see  every  state  and  territory  in  the  nation  visited 
by  me  and  organized  if  possible.  Helped  by  the  railroad  men  to 
passes,  replenished  financially  by  an  appropriation  of  $300  from 
the  Good  Templars  of  California,  and  personal  gifts  from  Dr. 
McDonald  of  San  Francisco,  Captain  Charles  Goodall,  of  the 
Oregon  Steamship  Company,  and  other  wealthy  friends  (for  I 
had  no  salary  until  1886),  I  went  the  rounds  accompanied  by 
Anna  Gordon.  The  Pacific  Coast  friends  gave  us  royal  greeting 
everywhere.  We  visited  thirty-three  towns  in  California,  went 
to  Oregon  by  steamer,  and  worked  in  that  state  and  along  the 
wonderful  Puget  Sound  Coast,  visiting  British  Columbia  and  go¬ 
ing  by  the  Snake  River  to  Lewiston,  the  former  capital  of  Idaho, 
the  only  town  ever  quarantined  against  us,  so  far  as  I  remember. 
The  “municipal  authorities,”  learning  of  our  intended  visit, 
declared  that  on  account  of  the  danger  resulting  from  diphtheritic 
contagion,  no  public  meeting  could  be  held.  But  we  had  traveled 
thirty-six  hours  by  river  steamer  for  the  express  purpose  of  meet¬ 
ing  the  good  women,  at  this  head  of  navigation  on  the  Snake  River 
and  did  not  propose  to  be  defeated.  Mrs.  Judge  Buck,  our  hostess, 
went  out  and  arranged  for  a  parlor  meeting  at  a  friend’s  house, 
we  adopted  a  constitution  and  appointed  officers  for  Idaho, 
finished  up  our  convention  and  had  an  ice-cream  reception  in  the 
omnibus  as  we  went  back  to  the  steamer,  and  instead  of  shaking 
the  dust  off  our  feet  we  waved  our  handkerchiefs  in  loving  adieu 
to  the  band  of  devoted  women  who  had  thus  stood  by  us,  as  the 
river  bank  receded  and  the  swift  wheel  bore  us  back  from  this 
nook  and  corner  to  the  broad  highways  of  civilization  and  philan¬ 
thropy.  Some  account  of  that  long  trip — covering  from  twenty  - 
five  to  thirty  thousand  miles — is  given  in  the  car-window  jottings 
of  the  “Traveler’s”  department  of  this  volume. 

OUR  FIRST  DECADE. 

At  Detroit,  in  October  of  1883,  we  celebrated  our  First 
Decade  with  rejoicings,  every  state  and  territory  having  that 
year  been  visited,  and  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance 
Union  set  in  motion  not  only  as  a  local,  but  also  as  a  state  and 
territorial  society  duly  constituted,  and  with  regularly  elected 
officers,  not  chosen  by  the  National  Woman’s  Christian  Temper- 


iy? /- 


ANNA  A. GORDON. 


Founding  of  World' s  W.  C.  T.  U. 


335 


ance  Union,  but  by  conventions  held  for  that  purpose  in  each  one 
of  the  forty-eight  subdivisions  of  the  United  States — Alaska  not 
included. 

In  this  Detroit  convention  we  had  an  able  and  spirited 
debate  on  the  resolution  favoring  equal  suffrage,  which  was 
almost  unanimously  adopted.  The  following  on  political  prohi¬ 
bition  were  also  adopted  practically  withqut  debate: 

“ Resolved ,  That  we  lend  our  influence  to  that  party,  *by 
whatever  name  called,  which  shall  furnish  the  best  embodi¬ 
ment  of  prohibition  principles  and  will  most  surely  protect  our 
homes. 

‘  ‘  Resolved ,  That  effort  be  made  to  secure  in  each  state  and 
territory,  non-partisan  prohibition  conventions  of  men  and  women 
before  the  party  nominating  conventions  of  1884  are  held.  At 
such  conventions,  efforts  shall  be  made  to  unite  electors  in  dec¬ 
laration  that  they  will  vote  with  no  party  that  has  not  prohi¬ 
bition  in  its  platform.  These  conventions  shall  adjourn  to  meet 
after  the  last  nominating  convention  has  been  held.” 

This  was  intended  to  educate  and  urge  men  to  the  duty  of 
forcing  the  prohibition  issue  upon  the  old  parties  if  possible,  and 
if  unsuccessful  in  that,  to  put  upon  the  same  men  such  compul¬ 
sion  of  reason  and  conscience  as  would  drive  them  into  the  party 
that  did  make  prohibition  its  issue — primary  and  supreme. 

A  memorial  to  the  presidential  nominating  conventions  was 
adopted,  asking  for  a  plank  in  their  platforms  in  favor  of  submit¬ 
ting  the  question  of  national  prohibition  to  the  people,  and  it  was 
made  my  duty  to  present  the  same.  Another  memorial  asking 
the  ballot  for  women  was  ordered  to  be  presented  to  the  National 
Congress. 

The  “World’s  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union”  was 
projected  and  the  general  officers  of  the  National  Woman’s 
Christian  Temperance  Union  were  made  a  standing  committee 
of  correspondence  and  organization  for  that  movement.  Five 
fraternal  delegates  were  present  from  Canada,  headed  by  Mrs. 
Uetitia  Youmans,  president  of  Dominion  Woman’s  Christian 
Temperance  Union.  Total  delegates  present,  two  hundred  and 
forty-two,  from  twenty-eight  states  and  territories.  Total  receipts 
$5,045,  balance  in  treasury,  $919.  No  salaries  were  paid  up  to 
this  date,  save  $1,000  a  year  to  our  corresponding  secretary. 

25 


386 


Towers  and  Bastions  of  Petition 


<  < 


The  following  extracts  from  my  annual  address  at  Detroit, 
show  the  thought  and  purpose  of  that  time  : 

“We  are  wiser  than  we  were  ;  our  intellects  ought  to  be  all  aflame  with 
clear  and  penetrating  thought.  We  are  more  loving-hearted  than  we  were  ; 
our  sympathies  ought  to  move  with  more  compassionate  enthusiasm  to  the 
rescue  where  the  onslaught  is  most  fierce  and  the  crisis  most  inevitable. 
We  have  a  steadiness  of  purpose  that  comes  of  faith  in  God,  and  our  wills 
ought  to  fly  with  resistless  sweep  to  the  execution  of  both  thought  and  sym¬ 
pathy  in  glowing  deeds. 

•  Revolutions  never  move  backward.  Pillar  of  cloud,  pillar  of  fire,  where 
dost  thou  lead?  This  question  has  burned  in  my  heart  as  I  read  the  newrs  of 
our  defeat  in  Illinois  and  Michigan  ;  our  victory  in  the  states  that  having 
eyes,  have  also  seen — the  Buckeye  and  the  Hawkey  e !  Sisters,  we  must  send 
the  plea  of  “Home,  Sweet  Home,”  into  the  national  conventions  of  the 
Republican  and  Democratic  parties,  when,  six  months  hence,  they  meet  to 
select  candidates  for  the  Presidency  of  these  United  States.  Thank  God, 
the  nation  has  one  senator  who  declares  his  purpose  to  insist  on  a  prohibitory 
constitutional  amendment  plank  in  the  platform  of  his  party .  You  know  his 
name  :  Henry  W.  Blair,  of  the  Old  Granite  State.  Let  us  give  emphasis 
to  his  demand  by  rolling  in  such  petitions  in  its  support  as  never  before 
bombarded  a  political  assembly  !  Let  us  redeem  the  pledge  made  to  the 
senator  when  he  addressed  our  Washington  convention,  by  intrenching 
him  behind  such  towers  and  bastions  of  petition  as  will  give  decisive  courage 
to  the  good,  and  bring  confusion  to  the  counsels  of  the  base.  All  honor  to 
the  gallant  Republicans  of  Iowa  !  Every  true  woman’s  heart  blesses  them 
with  their  rallying  cry  of  “  Home,  Sweet  Home.”  But  there  is  notan  organ 
of  their  party  outside  that  state  which  has  not  pierced  them  like  a  javelin, 
nor  a  leader  in  its  counsels  w7ho  has  not  jeered  them  as  the  Don  Quixote  of 
the  party  camp.  In  Ohio  the  Republican  candidate  for  Governor  planted 
himself  squarely  on  a  license  platform  ;  the  leading  organs  exhausted  con¬ 
tempt  and  sarcasm  upon  our  cause  before  the  election,  and  bitterest  curses 
since,  while  it  seems  not  unlikely  that  their  carelessness  or  complicity,  or 
both,  have  combined  with  Democratic  treachery  to  render  doubtful  or  futile 
the  most  sacred  “counts”  known  to  the  annals  of  this  country,  of  votes 
“for  God  and  Home  and  Native  Land.”  But  if  the  party  that  in  1872  at  the 
dictation  of  the  Germans  passed  the  “  Herman  Raster  Resolution,”  intended 
as  a  stab  at  prohibitory  legislation  ;  if  the  party  that  now  champions  license 
and  deludes  the  unwary  with  the  prefix  “high,”  turns  a  deaf  ear  to  our 
prayer  ;  and  if  the  party  of  Judge  Hoadley  remains  true  to  its  alliance  with 
the  rum-power,  as  undoubtedly  it  will,  and  our  petitions  are  once  more 
trampled  under  foot  of  men,  I  ask  what  then  would  be  the  duty  of  the  hour? 
O  friends,  God  hath  not  left  Himself  without  a  witness.  There  is  still  a 
party  in  the  land  to  be  helped  onward  to  success  by  women.  There  is  one 
now  despised  for  the  single  reason  that  it  lacks  majorities  and  commands  no 
high  positions  as  the  rewards  of  skillful  leadership  or  wily  caucusing,  but 
which  declares  as  its  cardinal  doctrine,  that  a  government  is  impotent  in- 


Diana  and  Endymion  in  Politics. 


387 


deed  -which  cannot  protect  the  lowliest  home  within  its  borders  from  the 
aggressions  of  the  vilest  saloon  that  would  destroy  that  home.  It  declares 
all  other  issues  trifling  when  compared  with  this,  and  insists  that  the  “  home 
guards”  shall  be  armed  with  the  ballot  as  a  Home  Protection  weapon. 
Here,  then,  let  us  invest  our  loyalty,  our  faith  and  works,  our  songs  and 
prayers.  To-day  that  party  is  Endymion,  the  unknown  youth,  but  the 
friendship  of  Diana,  the  clear-eyed  queen  of  heaven,  shall  make  for  it 
friends,  everywhere,  until  it  becomes  regnant,  and  the  two  reign  side  by 
side.  The  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  was  never  wTeak,  but  it  is 
a  giant  now.  The  Pacific  Coast,  the  New  Northwest,  the  South  are  all  with 
us  to-day.  But  yesterday,  Mary  A.  Livermore,  of  Massachusetts,  sent  to 
Sallie  F.  Chapin,  of  South  Carolina,  our  forces  being  in  convention  assem¬ 
bled  in  both  states,  this  telegraphic  message  :  “If  your  heart  is  as  our  heart, 
give  us  thy  hand.”  Back  came  this  message  from  our  gifted  Southern  leader: 
“  For  God  and  Home  and  Native  Land,  wTe’ll  give  you  both  our  heart  and 
hand.”  The  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union,  headed  by  a  Wood- 
bridge,  an  Aldrich,  a  Lathrap,  West  and  Stevens,  with  the  flush  and  prestige 
of  success,  can  not  go  forth  in  vain.  Auxiliaries  are  in  every  important 
town  of  all  the  nation,  sometimes  ambushed,  it  is  true,  little  thought  of 
by  the  great  public,  but  ready  to  execute  writh  promptness  all  military  orders 
wisely  planned  and  gently  given.  Our  work  grows  most  rapidly  where  the 
need  is  most  imminent.  Witness  Ohio,  with  five  hundred  unions  this  year, 
out-leaping  by  half,  its  previous  record,  and  forcing  the  issue  of  prohibition 
with  a  persistence  like  that  of  gravitation,  and  a  faith  high  as  the  hope  of  a 
saint,  and  deep  as  the  depth  of  a  drunkard’s  despair.  Look  at  Iowa,  where 
Judith  Ellen  Foster  started  five  years  ago  with  a  petition  of  which  few  took 
note,  but  which,  like  the  genii  of  Arabian  story,  “  expanded  its  pinions  in 
nebulous  bars  ”  until  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  has 
“  Moulded  a  mighty  state’s  decree,  and  shaped  the  whisper  of  the  throne  ” 
from  which  a  sovereign  people  declares  its  sovereign  will.  Look  at  Georgia 
and  Florida,  where  the  petitions  of  our  women  last  winter  resulted  in  the 
advance  step  of  local  option  ;  and  Arkansas,  where  their  efforts  secured  the 
banishment  of  saloons  from  seventy-five  counties  by  the  united  signatures 
of  men  and  women.  Look  at  Vermont,  New  Hampshire  and  Michigan, 
where  we  have  already  won  the  battle  for  compulsory  scientific  instruction 
in  the  principles  of  temperance,  and  tell  us,  has  not  God  chosen  the  Crusade 
Army  to  be  His  warriors,  indeed  ?  Let  no  man  say,  “  But  you  have  not  the 
ballot  yet,  and  must  not  expect  recognition  from  a  party.”  Be  it  well  un¬ 
derstood,  we  do  not  come  as  empty-handed  suppliants,  but  as  victorious 
allies.  Our  soldiers  are  not  raw  recruits,  but  veterans,  wearing  well-won 
laurels.  We  have  no  more  to  gain  than  God  has  given  us  to  bestow.  Let 
not  the  lessons  of  history  be  disregarded.  Of  old  the  world  had  its  Semir- 
atnis  and  Dido,  its  Zenobia  and  Boadicea,  nay,  better  still,  its  Miriam  and 
Deborah.  Later  on,  Russia  had  her  Catherine,  and  England  her  Elizabeth. 
But  in  my  thoughts  I  always  liken  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance 
Union  to  the  Joan  of  Arc,  whom  God  raised  up  for  France,  and  who,  in  spite 
of  their  muscle  and  their  military  prowess,  beat  the  English  and  crowmed  her 


338 


The  Parting  of  the  Roads. 

kino- 1  But  evermore  she  heard  and  heeded  heavenly  voices,  and  God  grant 
that  we  may  hear  and  heed  them  evermore  !  To  the  martyrdom  of  public 
rebuke  and  criticism  they  will  surely  lead  us,  a  sacrifice  not  easy  for  gentle 
hearts  to  bear  ;  doubtless,  also,  with  some  of  us,  to  the  actual  martyrdom  by 
which  a  national  history  becomes  heroic,  but  following  where  those  voices 
lead,  we  shall  steadily  pass  onward  from  the  depths  of  this  world’s  pain  to 
the  heights  of  eternity’s  peace,  and,  best  of  all,  we  shall  help  to  lift  Humanity, 
so  weak  and  so  bewildered,  nearer  to  the  law,  the  life,  the  freedom  of  God 
in  Christ  our  Lord.” 

A  strong  controversy  arose  about  the  form  of  our  Mem¬ 
orial  to  the  national  political  conventions.  The  word  used  was 
“  Memorial  ’  ’  and  I  supposed  the  description  of  my  plan  as  given 
in  the  foregoing  address  was  unmistakable.  I  had  said  that  we 
would  intrench  Senator  Blair  in  the  Republican  convention, 
behind  “  towers  and  bastions  of  petition  sufficient  to  give 
decisive  courage  to  the  good  and  bring  confusion  to  the  counsels 
of  the  base;  ”  that  we  would  roll  in  such  petitions  as  had  never 
before  bombarded  a  political  assembly,  in  support  of  a  Prohibi¬ 
tion  plank,  and  would  “redeem  the  pledge  made  to  the  Senator 
when  he  addressed  our  Washington  convention  in  1881.  ”  A 
reference  to  the  record  of  that  convention  shows  that  we  then  and 
there  promised  one  million  names  for  an  amendment  to  the  Con¬ 
stitution  of  the  United  States,  prohibiting  the  manufacture  and 
sale  of  all  alcoholic  liquors,  fermented  and  distilled. 

Because  the  passages  in  my  address  where  I  argued  this 
petition  were  more  earnestly  applauded  than  any  others  :  because 
in  tabulating  my  recommendations  I  had  called  it  a  Memorial, 
the  terms  “Petition”  and  “Memorial”  being  interchangeable; 
because  nothing  to  the  contrary  was  said  when  the  exact  word¬ 
ing  of  my  recommendation  was  adopted  by  the  convention,  I 
claimed  that  a  general  circulation  of  the  Memorial  should  be  had 
in  every  hamlet  and  city  of  the  nation,  hoping  thus  to  bring  upon 
the  Republican  Convention  such  a  pressure  that  the  Prohibition 
plank  would  be  adopted. 

And  now  arose  Mrs.  J.  Ellen  Foster,  of  Iowa,  until  this  time 
my  warm  and  earnest  coadjutor  in  every  measure  that  had  come 
before  our  conventions,  in  so  much  that  we  two  were  called  “the 
wheel-horses  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  wagon,  ”  but  who  (the  Conven¬ 
tion  being  adjourned  and  Executive  Committee  scattered)  insisted 
that  this  was  to  be  a  Memorial  in  the  sense  of  a  document  signed 


A  Kef or mer' s  Grief. 


389 


only  by  the  officers  of  the  National  Woman’s  Christian  Temper¬ 
ance  Union.  In  this  greatest  surprise  and  disappointment  of  my 
life  as  a  temperance  worker,  I  turned  to  the  women  of  Illinois, 
meeting  with  them  in  Bloomington  at  their  mid-year  Executive 
Committee.  They  had  invited  Mrs.  Foster  to  be  present  and, 
weary  as  they  were  of  the  petition  work  in  which  they  had  largely 
lost  faith,  influenced  by  the  urgent  entreaties  of  Mrs.  Elizabeth 
G.  Hibben,  then  a  devoted  Republican,  and  impressed  by  Mrs. 
Foster’s  eloquent  presentation  of  her  views,  they  begged  me  not 
to  insist  upon  a  popular  petition,  but  to  be  content  with  a  simple 
memorial  in  the  sense  of  that  word  upon  which  Mrs.  Foster  in¬ 
sisted,  viz.,  a  request  officially  signed  by  the  state  and  national 
officers. 

Twice  in  my  life  I  have  been  moved  to  bitter  tears,  by 
the  contradictions  of  my  public  environment.  Once,  when  I 
left  the  Woman’s  College  at  Evanston,  and  now  in  the  Illinois 
Executive  Committee.  I  had  believed  with  my  inmost  heart  in 
that  great  popularly-signed  Memorial,  as  an  object-lesson  that 
should  condense  and  crystallize  the  thought  and  purpose  of 
American  manhood  for  the  protection  of  the  home  by  Prohibition 
ballots.  I  solemnly  believed  that  the  heart  of  the  convention  was 
with  me  in  this  understanding,  and  that  faithful  hands  were 
ready  to  carry  out  the  work  on  a  scale  commensurate  with  the 
greatness  of  the  crisis  and  the  sacredness  of  the  interests  involved. 
But  after  strong  crying  and  tears  on  the  part  of  many  of  us  who 
bowed  together  in  prayer,  seeking  for  guidance,  I  promised  that 
I  would  commend  to  the  general  officers  (all  of  whom  understood 
the  convention  to  mean  what  I  did),  an  official  rather  than  a 
popular  Memorial.  But  they  did  not  agree  to  this  and  the  Exec¬ 
utive  Committee  was  convened  at  Indianapolis  —  for  the  first  and 
only  time  in  our  history,  thus  far — to  decide  the  weighty  ques¬ 
tion.  Only  seven  out  of  forty-eight  members  answered  the 
call,  distance  and  expense  being  the  chief  explanation  of  their 
failure  to  appear.  These  declared  their  belief  that  my  under¬ 
standing  was  the  correct  one,  but  we  all  desired  the  opinion  of 
the  entire  committee,  and  so  sent  out  the  question  by  letter,  to 
which,  almost  without  dissent,  the  answer  came  that  a  petition 
numerously  signed  was  what  they  understood  the  convention  to 
mean  in  its  use  of  the  word,  “  Memorial.” 


390 


An  Honorable  Embassy. 


But  the  time  was  now  far  spent  for  securing  a  million  names  or 
anything  approaching  that  number  and  only  an  official  Memorial 
could  be  prepared.  I  have  always  thought  that  this  decision 
hindered  the  growth  of  our  party,  believing  that  a  national  can¬ 
vass  with  the  petition  as  an  educating  force,  would  have  enlisted 
an  army  of  men  in  the  old  parties  whose  decision,  when  these 
parties  denied  their  prayer,  would  have  been  like  that  of  Gover¬ 
nor  St.  John,  to  “come  out  from  among  them  and  be  separate.” 

While  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  had  this 
unprofitable  difficulty  on  hand,  during  the  winter  of  1884,  ^ie 
Prohibition  Home  Protection  party  had  another.  Our  honored 
friends,  the  “old  liners,  ”  who  had  stood  sponsors  for  the  party 
at  its  birth,  had  three  points  of  disagreement  with  the  new¬ 
comers  :  Our  favorite  name  of  ‘  ‘  Home  Protection  ’  ’  was  distaste¬ 
ful  to  them  because  an  innovation,  and  the  purpose  we  had  to 
hold  the  national  convention  in  Chicago  was  distasteful  also  ; 
they  wanted  it  held  in  the  Hast;  besides  all  this,  they  thought 
we  should  not  wait  for  the  old  parties,  but  hold  our  convention 
earliest  of  all.  Hon.  Gideon  T.  Stewart,  of  Norwalk,  Ohio, 
chairman  of  the  Central  Committee,  was  strenuous  on  all  these 
points,  and  was,  perhaps,  the  most  influential  man  in  the  party 
at  that  time.  Although  the  “  new-comers”  were  confident  of  a 
majority  and  clearly  had  one  in  the  Central  Committee,  we  felt 
the  vital  importance  of  unity  in  these  decisions  as  to  time  and 
place.  A  commission  was  now  given  me  by  my  associates  on  the 
committee,  of  which  I  have  always  felt  proud;  they  sent  me  to 
Norwalk  to  see  Mr.  Stewart.  He  received  Miss  Gordon  and  me 
with  the  utmost  cordiality,  coming  with  his  daughter  to  meet  us 
at  the  early  morning  train,  and  introducing  us  to  his  pleasant 
home  where  his  wife  had  prepared  for  us.  A  man  of  college 
education  and  a  lawyer  of  prominence,  Mr.  Stewart  had  felt  the 

“slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune”  because  of  his  polit- 

% 

ical  Prohibition  sentiments  and  deeds.  His  fellow  townsmen 
had  even  condescended  so  far  as  to  change  the  name  of  a  street 
named  in  his  honor,  and  to  make  him  unmistakably  aware  of 
their  social  as  well  as  their  political  hostility.  After  a  friendly 
talk  we  agreed  to  disagree  in  this  way;  Mr.  Stewart  conceded 
the  time  and  I  the  place.  Pittsburgh  was  the  choice  of  the  “old 
liners,”  and  this  Chicago  granted,  while,  in  deference  to  our  cal- 


The  White  Ribbon  Memorial  “  Moves  OnR  391 

low  wish  to  ‘  ‘  give  the  Republicans  one  more  chance,  ’  ’  the  con¬ 
vention  was  to  follow  theirs.  It  now  became  my  duty  to  wend 
my  solitary  way,  after  the  manner  of  G.  P.  R.  James’s  strategic 
horseman,  to  the  four  national  conventions.  Never  having  seen  a 
political  convention  of  any  sort,  I  was  quite  shy  and  sat  in  a  box 
at  the  Indianapolis  Opera  House  with  Mrs.  Zerelda  Wallace  beside 
me,  while  Rev.  Dr.  Gilbert  Delamater  presented  to  the  Greenback 
Convention  our  White  Ribbon  Memorial  in  a  fine  speech,  received 
with  hand-clappings  by  the  good  men  and  women  delegates  there 
gathered.  But  when  it  came  back  from  the  committee  to  which, 
without  debate,  it  was  referred,  it  had  suffered  a  sea-change  into 
nothing  rich,  nor,  alas,  strange.  The  temperance  plank  was 
suspiciously  succinct,  and  stated  that  a  constitutional  amendment 
relative  to  the  liquor  traffic  ought  to  be  submitted;  but  how  near 
a  relative  —  whether  a  third  cousin  or  a  mother-in-law,  was  not 
indicated.  This  was  not  specially  encouraging,  and  like  poor 
Joe  in  Dickens’  story,  I  heard  a  voice  saying  to  me,  “  Move 
on  !  ”  In  the  great  Exposition  Building  of  Chicago  the  ‘  ‘  Party 
of  Moral  Ideas  ’  ’  had  gathered  up  its  leaders.  Although  I  had 
been  working  with  the  Prohibition  party,  my  final  farewell  was 
not  yet  said  to  the  Republican.  I  had  yet  fond  and  foolish  hopes 
that  it  might  take  advanced  ground,  though  the  difficulties  seemed 
insuperable  and  I  believed  that  it  and  every  other  party  should 
be  obliged  to  go  on  record  for  or  against  the  grandest  living  issue  : 
Home  or  Saloon  Protection,  which  shall  it  be  ? 

Having  been  often  urged  to  do  so  I  will  here  write  out  some 
account  of  my  visit  to  the  Committee  on  Resolutions  of  the  Re¬ 
publican  National  Convention  in  1884.  Commissioned  by  the 
National  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union,  I  took  the 
memorial  of  our  society  to  the  Exposition  Building  and  placed 
it  in  the  hands  of  Hon.  Mr.  Donan,  chairman  of  the  Iowa  dele¬ 
gation,  who  presented  it  in  due  form  and  it  was  referred  without 
debate  to  the  Committee  on  Resolutions.  Senator  Blair  of  New 
Hampshire  then  set  at  work  to  secure  the  opportunity  for  a  brief 
hearing  before  that  committee.  Similar  demands  from  other 
societies,  reformers,  etc.,  were  many  and  urgent ;  I  think  it  was 
not  until  the  day  before  the  resolutions  were  presented  that  we 
obtained  an  audience. 

1 

My  impression  is  that  this  took  place  during  the  noon  recess. 


392 


Before  the  Republican  National  Committee. 


Word  was  sent  me  at  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union 
Headquarters  that  the  Senator  had  been  successful,  and  I  asked 
Mrs.  Mary  B.  Willard,  editor  of  our  organ,  The  Union  Signal , 
and  Miss  Helen  L.  Hood,  corresponding  secretary  of  Illinois 
Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union,  to  go  with  me.  We 
were  escorted  to  the  committee  room  at  the  appointed  time  and 
found  but  few  of  the  members  present — they  being  in  an  adjoin¬ 
ing  room,  the  door  of  which  was,  I  think,  open.  I  know  that 
tobacco  smoke  was  most  uncomfortably  noticeable  throughout 
our  stay,  though  I  do  not  think  that  any  member  smoked  in  our 
presence,  but  the  room  was  thoroughly  distasteful,  almost  sicken¬ 
ing  to  us,  by  reason  of  the  sight  of  the  many  much-used  spittoons 
and  the  sight  and  smell  of  the  blue  cloud  of  smoke. 

We  three  women  sat  in  one  corner  on  a  sofa,  feeling  very 
much  like  mariners  stranded  on  a  lee  shore.  There  was  no  greet¬ 
ing  for  us  or  notice  taken  of  our  presence  by  any  one  so  far  as  I 
remember.  We  were  not  asked  what  votes  we  could  deliver  or 
questioned  in  any  way  whatever.  Senator  Blair  gathered  in  as 
many  as  he  could  of  the  committee  and  asked  for  a  hearing. 
He  then  began  to  speak  of  our  mission  and  after  a  few  minutes 
was  called  to  order  and  a  motion  made  that  the  length  of  time  to 
be  granted  be  now  fixed.  The  Senator  asked  that  wTe  might  have 
half  an  hour  but  was  greeted  by  a  vigorous  “  no  ”  from  several 
throats.  Some  one,  I  never  knew  who,  then  moved  that  fifteen 
minutes  be  the  limit,  and  this  carried,  though  there  were  several 
sharp  negatives.  I  then  rose,  took  out  my  watch,  made  my 
speech  in  thirteen  minutes  and  we  at  once  withdrew.  As  we  did 
so,  several,  perhaps  half  a  dozen,  members  of  the  committee  came 
forward  and  shook  hands  with  us,  some  expressing  their  sympa¬ 
thy  and  hope  that  favorable  action  might  be  taken. 

My  speech  read  thus  : 

Gentlemen — The  temperance  women  of  America  have  never  before 
asked  for  one  moment  of  your  time.  Thousands  of  them  have  worked  and 
prayed  for  your  success  in  the  heroic  days  gone  by,  but  up  to  this  hour  they 
have  laid  no  tax  on  the  attention  of  the  people’s  representatives  in  presi¬ 
dential  convention  assembled.  Though  the  position  is  a  new  one,  I  can  not 
count  myself  other  than  at  home  in  your  presence,  gentlemen,  as  you  repre¬ 
sent  that  great  party  which,  on  the  prairies  of  Wisconsin,  my  honored  father 
helped  to  build,  and  whose  early  motto  roused  my  girlish  enthusiasm,  “  Free 
soil,  free  speech,  free  labor,  and  free  men.”  But  I  rejoice  to-day  in  the 
sisterhood  of  the  women’s  party — the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance 


‘  ‘  Some  Political  Party  Will  Respond.  *  * 


393 


Union — where  I  may  march  side  by  side  with  that  brilliant  Southern  leader, 
Sallie  F.  Chapin,  of  South  Carolina,  who,  in  our  new  anti-slavery  war,  the 
fight  for  a  free  brain,  is  my  beloved  coadjutor. 

I  am  here  in  no  individual  character,  but  as  a  delegated  representative 
of  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  of  forty-eight  states  and  terri¬ 
tories,  including  the  District  of  Columbia,  to  present  to  you  the  memorial 
of  the  American  home  against  the  American  saloon.  You  will  notice  that 
we  make  no  note  of  foreign  drinking  customs,  but  speak  and  work  directly 
against  an  institution  which  derives  its  authority  directly  from  our  own  gov¬ 
ernment.  Our  society  is  the  lineal  descendant  of  that  whirlwind  of  the 
Lord  known  as  the  “Woman’s  Temperance  Crusade,”  of  1874,  and  stands 
not  only  for  total  abstinence  and  prohibition,  but  for  no  sectarianism  in 
religion,  no  sectionalism  in  politics,  no  sex  in  citizenship.  We  recognize 
state  rights  as  to  the  adoption  of  these  principles,  but  move  forward  in  one 
grand,  solid  phalanx — a  society  as  well  known  in  Florida  as  it  is  in  Oregon, 
by  the  results  of  the  last  ten  years’  work  ;  a  society  that  has  an  open  hand 
for  Catholic  and  Protestant,  for  the  foreign  as  well  as  the  native  born. 

We  know  that  in  America  the  great  clanging  mill  of  government,  kept 
in  motion  at  enormous  cost,  turns  out  just  one  product,  and  that  is  protec¬ 
tion  for  life  and  limb  and  property.  But  it  seems  to  us  women  that  the  citadel 
of  purity,  the  palladium  of  liberty,  the  hpme,  our  brothers  have  forgotten 
adequately  to  protect.  Therefore  I  am  here  to-day  to  speak  on  behalf  of 
millions  of  women,  good  and  true,  but  grieved  and  sorrowful ;  to  ask  that 
the  guarantees  and  safeguards  of  law  shall  be  stripped  from  the  saloons  of 
my  country  ;  that  their  tarnished  gold  shall  no  more  pollute  our  treasury, 
and  that  the  land  we  love  may  at  once  and  forever  go  out  of  partnership 
with  the  liquor  traffic. 

Gentlemen,  some  political  party  will  respond  to  this  plea  from  the 
hearts  of  women  asking  for  protection  from  a  stimulant  which  nerves  with 
dangerous  strength  the  manly  arm  that  God  meant  to  be  woman’s  shelter 
and  protection,  so  that  man’s  cruelty  becomes  greatest  toward  those  he  loves 
the  best.  Some  party  will  declare  that  when  our  best  beloved  go  forth  into 
life’s  battle  they  shall  not  have  to  take  chances  so  unequal  in  the  fight  for  a 
clear  brain,  nor  run  the  gauntlet  of  saloons  legalized  and  set  along  our 
streets.  Some  party  will  lay  to  heart  this  object-lesson  of  the  “Nation’s 
Annual  Drink  Bill,”  shown  in  the  chart  I  have  had  placed  before  your  eyes 
to-day,  with  its  nine  hundred  millions  for  intoxicating  liquors,  to  five  mill¬ 
ions  and  a  half  for  the  spread  of  Christ’s  gospel. 

The  Greenback  convention  has  already  received  with  favor  this  memo¬ 
rial.  Senator  Donan,  our  gallant  Iowa  champion,  has  secured  its  reading 
in  your  own  great  convention  and  its  reference  to  your  committee.  To¬ 
morrow  you  will  act  upon  it.  On  July  8  it  will  be  presented  to  the  Demo¬ 
cratic  convention  in  this  city,  and  011  July  23  to  that  of  the  Prohibition  Home 
Protection  party,  in  Pittsburgh,  Pa. 

A  great  chief  of  your  party,  who  was  with  us  as  the  hero  of  your  last 
convention,  said  that  not  in  the  turmoil  of  politics,  but  at  the  sacred  fireside 
hearth,  does  God  prepare  the  verdict  of  a  great,  free  people.  Let  me  say. 


394 


“ New  Occasio?is  Teach  New  Duties 


gentlemen,  that  the  party  that  declares  for  national  prohibition  in  1884  will 
be  the  one  for  which  the  temperance  women  of  this  land  wTill  pray  and 
work,  circulate  literature,  convene  assemblies,  and  do  all  in  our  power  to 
secure  its  success.  Nor  is  the  influence  of  these  women  to  be  forgotten  or 
lightly  esteemed,  as  the  past  has  sufficiently  proved.  While  I  have  tried  to 
speak,  -my  spirit  has  been  sustained  and  soothed  by  the  presence  of  that 
devoted  army  which  I  am  here  to  represent.  As  womanly,  as  considerate, 
as  gentle  as  the  women  of  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union,  from 
Alabama  to  Wyoming,  would  wish  me  to  be  in  this  presence,  I  have  tried 
to  be — that  I  might  justly  represent  them — good-natured  as  sunshine,  stead¬ 
fast  as  gravitation,  persistent  as  a  Christian’s  faith.  I  have  no  harsh  word 
to  speak  of  any.  The  liquor  traffic  is  the  awful  heritage  of  a  less  wise,  less 
kind,  and  less  enlightened  past.  For  its  existence  in  this  gentler  age  we 
are  all  more  or  less  responsible. 

Let  us  combine  to  put  it  away,  “with  malice  toward  none,  with  charity 
for  all.”  Daughters  of  heroes  and  sisters  of  patriots  are  those  for  whose 
dear  sake  I  have  dared  to  speak  to-day.  De  Tocqueville  said:  “Life  is 
neither  a  pleasure  nor  a  pain  ;  it  is  a  serious  business,  to  be  entered  on  with 
coqrage,  and  in  a  spirit  of  self-sacrifice.”  Gentlemen,  in  that  spirit  I  have 
tried  to  speak,  — not  because  I  wished  to  be  heard,  but  to  represent,  as  best 
I  could,  the  homes  of  America  in  their  sacred  warfare  against  the  American 
saloon.  May  God  lead  and  guide  us  all  into  lives  and  deeds  of  tenderest 
charity  and  divinest  toil  for  the  sorrowful  and  weak. 

Some  of  us  have  sung  the  Miriam  song  of  this  great  party  in  other  days, 
and  whether  or  not  we  shall,  erelong,  chant  its  requiem,  depends  upon 
whether  or  not  the  party  shall  be  as  true  to  living  issues  of  the  present  as  it 
was  true  to  living  issues  in  the  past.  For 

“New  occasions  teach  new  duties, 

Time  makes  ancient  good  uncouth  ; 

They  must  upward  still,  and  onward, 

Who  would  keep  abreast  of  truth.” 

We  ask  you  to  declare  in  favor  of  submitting  to  the  people  a  national 
constitutional  amendment  for  the  prohibition  of  the  liquor  traffic. 

Gentlemen,  on  behalf  of  the  National  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance 
Union,  I  thank  you  for  this  courteous  hearing. 

I  ought  to  say  that  while  I  spoke,  those  present  listened  re¬ 
spectfully,  so  far  as  I  observed.  Indeed,  I  took  no  special  excep¬ 
tions  to  their  conduct,  which  was,  no  doubt,  from  their  point  of 
view,  altogether  courteous.  They  were  nearly  through  with 
their  report,  the  convention  wTas  impatiently  waiting,  they  had 
not  the  remotest  intention  of  doing  anything  for  the  temperance 
people,  and,  weary  and  annoyed  as  they  were,  I  think  they  did 
all  in  the  way  of  politeness  that  we  could  expect  from  them.  A 
different  standard  would  most  assuredly  be  applied  by  us  to  the 
Prohibition  party,  as  to  its  manner  of  receiving  ladies,  for  ladies 


The  Famous  Political  “Memorial."  395 

themselves  are  members  of  and.  leaders  in  that  party.  This  being 
so,  there  is,  of  course,  110  smoking  in  the  committee  rooms  of 
Prohibitionists.  The  gentlemen  of  the  Republican  committee 
belonged  to  the  old  regime — they  were,  as  Mrs.  Hannah  Whitall 
Smith  so  often  and  so  charitably  says  of  people,  “in  their  condi¬ 
tions,  ”  and,  being  in  them,  they  did  the  best  they  could. 
Whether  or  not  they  received  the  Brewers’  Committee,  and  what 
length  of  time  was  accorded  its  members,  if  received,  I  do  not 
authentically  know.  It  is  said  that  those  men  had  an  hour — I 
cannot  say,  and  do  not  wish  to  do  any  one  injustice,  least  of  all 
my  political  opponents.  Going  upon  the  platform  of  the  conven¬ 
tion,  thanks  to  a  ticket  from  Senator  Blair,  I  listened  earnestly 
while  Chairman  McKinley,  in  his  grand  voice,  read  the  resolu¬ 
tions.  As  he  went  on  I  said  to  myself,  “  Of  course,  ours  will  be 
near  the  close,  if  there  at  all,  ”  but  when  he  had  finished  and 
there  was  not  a  word  for  temperance,  I  said  to  myself: 

Tis  sweet  to  be  remembered, 

’Tis  sad  to  be  forgot.” 

When  the  report  was  accepted  without  debate  and  without  a 
single  negative  (although  the  Iowa  delegates,  the  Maine  and 
Kansas  delegates,  were  out  in  full  force),  I  said  to  myself, 
“Streams  cannot  rise  higher  than  their  fountains;  men  in  the 
states  cannot  rise  superior  to  their  party  nationally,  and  this 
Republican  party,  once  so  dear  to  me,  I  must  now  leave  because 
here  is  the  proof  that  even  good  men  dare  not  stand  by  prohibi¬ 
tion  when  they  meet  upon  a  national  platform.  ” 

So  then  and  there  I  bade  the  ‘  ‘  Grand  Old  Party  ’  ’  an  ever¬ 
lasting  farewell  and  took  up  my  line  of  march  toward  the  Grand 
Army  of  Reform.  By  this  I  mean,  that  while  I  had  already  acted 
with  the  Prohibition  party  for  a  brief  period,  I  had  never  until 
now  utterly  given  up  the  hope  that  the  Republican  party  might 
so  retrieve  itself  that  we  could  stand  together  for  God  and  Home 
and  Native  Rand. 

The  document  that  I  presented  to  the  four  conventions  read 
as  follows : 

THU  MEMORIAL  OF  THE  AMERICAN  HOME  FOR  PROTECTION  FROM  THE 

AMERICAN  SALOON. 

To  the  National  Convention  of  the . Party  : 

We,  members  of  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  of  the 
United  States  (and  of  its  forty-eight  state  and  territorial  Woman’s  Christian 


396 


The  Pittsburgh  Prohibition  Convention. 


Temperance  Unions,  with  that  of  the  District  of  Columbia),  herein  repre¬ 
sented  by  the  signatures  of  our  officers,  believe  that,  while  the  poison  habits 
of  the  nation  can  be  largely  restrained  by  an  appeal  to  the  intellect  through 
argument,  to  the  heart  through  sympathy,  and  to  the  conscience  through 
the  motives  of  religion,  the  traffic  in  those  poisons  will  be  best  controlled  by 
prohibitory  law. 

We  believe  the  teachings  of  science,  experience  and  the  Golden  Rule, 
combine  to  testify  against  the  traffic  in  alcoholic  liquors  as  a  drink,  and  that 
the  homes  of  America,  which  are  the  citadels  of  patriotism,  purity  and  hap- 
piness,  have  no  enemy  so  relentless  as  the  American  saloon. 

Therefore,  as  citizens  of  the  United  States,  irrespective  of  sect  or  section, 
but  having  deeply  at  heart  the  protection  of  our  homes,  we  do  hereby 
respectfully  and  earnestly  petition  you  to  advocate  and  to  adopt  such  meas¬ 
ures  as  are  requisite  to  the  end  that  prohibition  of  the  importation,  exporta¬ 
tion,  manufacture  and  sale  of  alcoholic  beverages  may  become  an  integral 
part  of  the  national  Constitution,  and  that  your  party  candidate  shall  be  by 
character  and  public  pledge  committed  to  a  national  constitutional  prohib¬ 
itory  amendment. 

After  two  such  failures  I  had  little  heart  to  approach  the 
Democrats,  but  in  loyalty  to  my  appointment  I  had  this  to  do. 
The  great  Exposition  Building  was  packed  once  more  with  dele¬ 
gates  whose  drink  bill  at  the  Palmer  House  was  no  larger  than 
that  of  the  Republicans  had  been — in  both  cases  it  was  immense. 
Major  Burke,  of  the  New  Orleans  Times- Democrat ,  presented  the 
Memorial  which  was  referred  without  debate  to  the  Committee  on 
Platform  ;  they  reported  against  “sumptuary  laws  that  vex  the 
citizen.”  Meanwhile  one  more  national  party  remained  un- 
visited,  and  to  that  I  went  with  the  rejected  Memorial,  purposing 
in  my  heart  henceforth  to  cast  in  my  lot  just  there. 

THE  PITTSBURGH  CONVENTION. 

It  was  a  gathering  never  to  be  forgotten!  In  old  “La¬ 
fayette  Plall,”  cradle  of  the  Republican  party,  where  in  1852 
John  P.  Hale  and  George  W.  Julian  were  nominated  for  president 
and  vice-president,  were  gathered  on  the  morning  of  July  23, 
1884,  over  six  hundred  delegates  representing  twenty-eight  states. 
Women  were  there  in  goodly  numbers,  almost  wholly  from  the 
Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union,  which,  in  common  with 
other  temperance  societies,  had  been  invited  to  send  delegates. 
It  was  a  crowd  not  only  of  “  real  folks”  but  of  “our  folks” — 
the  non-drinking,  non-tobacco-using  home-people,  almost  with¬ 
out  exception  members  of  the  church.  Careful  hands  had  be- 


The  Memorial  Accepted  at  Last. 


397 


decked  the  old  hall  with  mottoes  and  flags,  pictures  and  banners, 
all  symbolic  of  “  Down  with  the  saloon  and  up  with  the  home.” 
Mary  A.  Woodbridge,  of  Ohio,  was  chosen  one  of  the  secretaries, 
and  women  were  on  every  committee.  After  an  admirable  address 
by  Chairman  Stewart  I  asked  for  three  minutes  in  which  to 
present  the  Memorial  of  the  National  Woman’s  Christian  Tem¬ 
perance  Union,  which  was  adopted  with  cheers,  and  a  general 
uprising. 

The  following  droll  resolution,  offered  by  John  Uloyd  Thomas, 
of  Maryland,  shows  the  paternal  interest  manifested  in  us  by 
leaders  of  the  party  which  in  its  heroic  days  had  waked  the  echoes 
of  this  same  hall : 

‘  ‘  Resolved ,  That  the  convention  of  the  Prohibition  party  rec¬ 
ognizes  with  due  humility  the  anxious  care  for  the  welfare  of  our 
party  displayed  by  the  representatives  of  the  national  government, 
who  in  the  persons  of  W.  W.  Dudley,  Commissioner  of  Pensions, 
and  Hon.  Hiram  Price,  Commissioner  of  Indian  Affairs,  have 
violated  civil  service  rules  and  used  public  time  to  come  to  Pitts¬ 
burgh  and  to  urge  advice  upon  members  of  the  convention,  but, 

“Resolved,  that  we  timidly  advance  the  claim  that  the  intel¬ 
ligence  of  this  assembly  is  ample  to  provide  for  its  own  security.” 

Here  I  met  for  the  first  time  Prof.  Samuel  Dickie,  now 
chairman  of  the  Prohibition  National  Committee.  Mrs.  Mary  T. 
Uathrap  came  to  me,  saying  :  “We  have  a  man  in  our  state  who 
cannot  be  excelled  as  a  presiding  officer,  Professor  Dickie,  the 
astronomer  of  Albion  college.”  I  knew  he  was  what  “  the  com¬ 
mon  people  ”  call  “a  square  man  ,”  square  head  and  shoulders, 
strong  Scotch  face,  and  good  Scotch  blood.  We  women  worked 
for  him — he  was  elected  chairman.  I  do  not  say  we  did  it,  for 
I  do  not  know. 

A  pleasant  surprise  came  to  me  when  the  Kansas  delegation 
asked  me  to  represent  its  members  in  seconding  the  nomination 
of  Governor  St.  John  for  the  Presidency.  The  stenographer  thus 
reports  my  words  : 

Mr.  Chairman ,  Brothers  and  Sisters  in  America's  Great  Battle  for  a  clear 
brain: 

The  thing  that  has  been  shall  be.  History  repeats  itself.  Thirty-three 
years  ago,  only  eight  years  before  the  nomination  of  Abraham  Lincoln  under 
the  increased  impetus  of  the  same  movement,  John  P.  Hale  and  Geo.  W. 
Julian  were  chosen  in  this  hall. 

During  their  campaign  a  little  girl,  a  farmer’s  daughter  on  the  prairies 


398 


A  Woman's  Nominating  Speech. 


of  Wisconsin,  sat  up  until  unprecedentedly  late  at  night  to  “hear  the  news 
from  the  Free-soil  meeting  ”  which  her  mother  and  brother  had  gone  miles  to 
attend  because  Hale  and  Julian  were  to  speak,  and  she  will  never  forget  the 
eagerness  with  which  she  listened  to  that  recital.  But  how  little  did  she 
dream  that  in  the  interval  between  those  days  and  these  the  world  would 
grow  so  tolerant ;  old  prejudices  would  roll  away  like  clouds  below  the 
horizon,  and  women  come  forth  into  public  wrork  like  singing  birds  after  a 
thunder-storm  !  Least  of  all  could  she  have  imagined  that  a  royal,  free  state 
like  Kansas,  by  unanimous  invitation  of  its  delegation  in  the  second  great 
“  Free-soil  ”  gathering  of  Lafayette  Hall,  would  accord  to  her  the  honor  of 
seconding  the  nomination  of  Kansas’  greatest  leader.  But  so  it  was  to  be  ! 

The  heroes  of  America  have  been  from  the  first,  and  will  be  to  the  last, 
men  of  the  people.  The  name  of  John  P.  St.  John,  of  Kansas,  has  already 
passed  into  history.  His  is  the  rare  and  radiant  fame  that  comes  of  being 
enshrined,  while  yet  alive,  in  that  most  majestic  of  Pantheons,  the  people’s 
heart.  Our  action  here  to-day  will  neither  lift  nor  lower  his  position,  for  he 
is  “  Fortune’s  now  and  Fame’s  ;  one  of  the  few,  the  immortal  names  that 
were  not  born  to  die.”  His  history,  half  heroic,  half  pathetic,  has  always 
deeply  touched  my  heart,  and  I  rejoice  to  rehearse  it  briefly  here  to-day. 

Brother  and  sister  delegates,  picture  to  yourselves  a  lonesome  little  fel¬ 
low  in  the  wilderness  of  Indiana  fifty  years  ago,  trying,  single-handed,  to 
make  his  way  in  the  world. 

“  Blessings  on  thee,  little  man, 

Barefoot  boy,  with  cheek  of  tan.” 

Picture  an  adventurous  youth  as,  with  but  a  dollar  in  his  pocket,  he 
crossed  the  “  Big  Muddy,”  bound  for  Pike’s  Peak,  and,  driving  an  ox-team 
over  the  Rockies,  “  footed  it  ”  to  California.  See  him  next  delving  in  the 
mines  by  day  and  studying  law  by  the  camp-fire  at  evening.  For 

“  The  heights  by  great  men  reached  and  kept, 

Were  not  attained  by  sudden  flight, 

But  they,  while  their  companions  slept, 

Were  toiling  upward  in  the  night.” 

See  him  at  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  war,  waiting  for  no  draft,  hiring 
no  substitute,  but  baring  his  own  breast  to  foemen  wrho,  thank  God,  to-day 
are  friends  !  See  him  next  in  the  senate  of  Kansas,  then  twice  elected  gov¬ 
ernor,  keeping  always  near  the  people  and  trusting  them  in  spite  of  a  thou¬ 
sand  warnings  from  political  leaders.  I  saw  him  first  at  Bismarck  Grove, 
Kansas,  in  presence  of  a  great  concourse,  when  the  campaign  for  constitu¬ 
tional  amendment  was  at  its  height.  As  he  came  forward,  every  man’s  hat 
and  every  woman’s  handkerchief  waved  high  in  air,  and  while  the  loud 
hurrahs  resounded,  I  saw  tears  on  many  a  gentle  face  of  mother,  sister, 
wife,  because  they  knew  he  was  defender  of  their  endangered  homes. 

They  told  me  in  Topeka,  where  he  had  lived  for  years,  that  he  was 
always  in  his  place  at  church  and  prayer-meeting,  no  matter  how  official 
duties  pressed  upon  him.  They  told  me  how  he  went  to  Leavenworth  when 
letters  threatening  his  life  warned  him  to  stay  away,  and  being  met  en 


Governor  St.  John  the  New  “ Pathfinder .” 


399 


route  by  a  temperance  delegation  whose  anxiety  was  so  great  they  had  come 
to  protect  him,  he  showed  them  the  letters  of  which,  until  that  moment,  no 
one  had  been  aware,  saying:  “Our  cause  must  have  its  martyrs  as  well 
as  heroes,  and  I  might  as  well  be  ready.” 

It  seems  to  me  the  world  must  have  in  every  age  the  object-lesson  of 
new  lives  dedicated  to  all  that  most  exalts  humanity,  and  here  we  have 
this  one  which  God  has  set  up  high  where  all  may  read. 

I  never  heard  John  P.  St.  John  traduced,  save  by  the  myrmidons  of  the 
saloon.  The  party  that  now  reviles  would  have  adored  him  had  he  been 
even  a  little  less  loyal  to  our  cause.  The  Senate’s  open  door  would  have  been 
just  before  him  if  indeed  he  had  not  entered  it  afteady.  But  now,  forsooth, 
he  is  “  an  office  seeker  ”  when  he  holds  on  high  the  standard  for  us  who  can 
give  him  nothing  but  our  gratitude  ;  when  he  lays  his  lofty  fame  a  sacri¬ 
fice  upon  the  altar  of  our  holy  cause  ! 

I  yield  to  none  in  admiration  of  these  glorious  veterans,  John  Russell, 
James  Black,  and  Gideon  T.  Stewart.  History  will  place  their  names  be¬ 
side  those  of  Phillips  and  Garrison  upon  her  roll  of  honor  ;  they  were  the 
adventurous  pioneers  who  struck  out  into  a  forest  of  prejudice  and  “blazed 
the  trees.”  But  to  make  our  way  across  the  Sierras  of  difficulty  that  still 
separate  us  from  the  Eldorado  of  success,  we  want  a  “  Pathfinder,”  and  we 
believe  St.  John  to  be  the  “  Fremont  ”  of  our  battles. 

For  Dr.  R.  H.  McDonald  I  have  the  highest  esteem,  his  lofty  charac¬ 
ter  and  generous  help  command  my  admiration  and  my  gratitude;  but  as 
between  twTo  noble  men  we  must  choose  the  one  who,  as  a  sun-glass,  will 
focus  the  most  votes,  and  I  believe  Governor  St.  John  to  be  that  man. 

Dear,  women  of  the  white  ribbon,  here  assembled,  you  know  that  from 
all  this  land  went  up  the  voice  of  supplication  when  the  call  for  prayer  was 
made  just  before  the  first  of  these  party  conventions,  in  May  last!  We 
prayed  that  America  might  have  a  plank  in  some  platform  declaring  for 
national  prohibition  for  the  sake  of  home  protection,  and  a  candidate 
whose  character  and  personal  habits  mothers  might  safely  commend  to  their 
sons.  In  Governor  St.  John  we  have  an  answer  to  that  prayer.  When  I 
think  of  what  he  is  to  the  temperance  people  of  the  nation,  I  know  that  in 
ten  thousand  homes  these  words  of  England's  laureate  will  strike  respon¬ 
sive  chords  : 

“  As  some  divinely  gifted  man, 

Whose  life  in  low  estate  began 
And  on  a  simple  village  green; 

“Who  breaks  his  birth’s  invidious  bar, 

And  grasps  the  skirts  of  happy  chance, 

And  breasts  the  blows  of  circumstance, 

And  grapples  with  his  evil  star  ; 

“  Who  makes  by  force  his  merit  known, 

*  And  lives  to  clutch  the  golden  keys, 

To  mould  a  mighty  state’s  decrees 
And  shape  the  whisper  of  the  throne  ; 


400 


Woman' s  Ballot  Indorsed. 


“  And  moving  on  from  high  to  higher. 

Becomes  on  Fortune’s  crowning  slope 
The  pillar  of  a  people’s  hope, 

The  center  of  a  world’s  desire.” 

On  behalf  of  the  Kansas  delegation,  I  second  the  nomination  of  John  P. 
St.  John,  of  Kansas. 

When  it  was  announced  that  all  the  votes  of  the  convention 
had  been  cast  for  Governor  St.  John,  the  tumult  was  tremendous, 
and  as  we  all  stood  upland  sang, 

“  Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory 
Of  the  coming  of  the  Ford,” 

there  were  tears  on  many  a  cheek. 

I  was  a  member  of  the  Committee  on  Resolutions,  and  espe¬ 
cially  interested  in  the  one  on  equal  suffrage.  It  read  as  follows, 
and  was  mainly  written  by  James  Black,  of  Pennsylvania,  the 
Prohibition  party’s  first  candidate  for  president;  my  own  part  I 
will  print  in  italics  : 

Resolved ,  That  the  activity  and  cooperation  of  the  women  of  America 
for  the  promotion  of  temperance  has,  in  all  the  history  of  the  past,  been  a 
strength  and  encouragement  which  we  gratefully  acknowledge  and  record. 
In  the  later  and  present  phase  of  the  movement  for  the  prohibition  of  the 
traffic,  the  purity  of  purpose  and  method,  the  earnestness,  zeal,  intelligence 
and  devotion  of  the  mothers  and  daughters  of  the  Woman’s  Christian  Tem¬ 
perance  Union  have  been  eminently  blessed  of  God.  Kansas  and  Iowa 
have  been  given  them  as  “sheaves”  of  rejoicing,  and  the  education  and 
the  arousing  of  the  public  mind,  and  the  now  prevailing  demand  for  the 
Constitutional  Amendment  are  largely  the  fruit  of  their  prayers  and  labors. 
Sharing  in  the  efforts  that  shall  bring  the  question  of  the  abolition  of  this 
traffic  to  the  polls,  they  shall  join  in  the  grand  “Praise  God  from  whom  all 
blessings  flow,”  when  by  law  victory  shall  be  achieved. 

Resolved ,  That  believing  in  the  civil  and  political  equality  of  the  sexes, 
and  that  the  ballot  in  the  hands  of  woman  is  her  right  for  protection,  and 
ivould  prove  a  powerful  ally  for  the  abolition  of  the  liquor  traffic ,  the  execu¬ 
tion  of  law ,  the  promotion  of  reform  in  civil  affairs ,  and  the  removal  of 
corruption  in  public  life,  we  enunciate  the  principle,  and  relegate  the  prac¬ 
tical  outworking  of  this  reform  to  the  discretion  of  the  Prohibition  party  in 
the  several  states,  according  to  the  condition  of  public  sentiment  in  those 
states. 

I  had  been  so  much  in  the  South  that  its  delegates  confided 
to  me  their  earnest  hope  that  we  would  “draw  it  mild,”  but  1 4 
felt  that  they  would  hardly  disown  their  traditional  doctrine  of 
state  rights  as  here  expressed.  They  did  not,  nor  do  I  believe 


“  Home  Protection  ”  as  a  Name. 


401 


that,  as  a  class,  they  will  antagonize  those  of  us  who  are  com¬ 
mitted  to  the  equal  suffrage  plank  in  the  Prohibition  platform. 

There  was  some  debate,  lively  and  courteous,  but  the  reso¬ 
lution  was  adopted  with  but  little  dissent.  Not  so  the  party 
name.  Rev.  Dr.  Miner,  of  Boston,  a  chief  among  the  old  liners, 
moved  that  the  old  name  “Prohibition”  be  restored.  “Our 
side  ’  ’  amended  with  the  proposition  to  retain  the  name  given 
two  years  before  at  Chicago,  viz.,  “  Prohibition  Home  Protec¬ 
tion  Party,” — ten  syllables  !  and  on  this  rock  we  foundered. 
It  was  not  in  human  nature  to  put  up  with  a  decahedron  name, 
and  one  parted  in  the  middle  at  that !  If  we  had  moved  to  sub¬ 
stitute  “Home  Protection,”  we  should  have  done  much  better. 
I  remember  uttering  a  few  sentences  in  favor  of  retaining  the 
long  name,  but  the  old  liners  were  too  strong  for  us,  and  almost 
without  debate,  the  change  was  agreed  to.  This  action  scored 
another  of  those  huge  disappointments  through  which  one  learns 
“  to  endure  hardness  as  a  good  soldier.”  Away  back  in  1876,  I 
think  it  was,  when  our  great  and  good  Mrs.  Yeomans,  of  Can¬ 
ada,  spoke  at  Old  Orchard  Beach,  my  ear  first  caught  the  win¬ 
some  and  significant  phrase  “  Home  Protection.”  My  impression 
is  that  she  did  not  coin,  but  adapted  it  from  the  tariff  vocab¬ 
ulary  of  the  Dominion.  Listening  to  her  there  in  the  great 
grove  of  pines,  with  blue  sky  overhead  and  flashing  sea  waves 
near,  it  flashed  on  me,  ‘  ‘  Why  not  call  this  gospel  temperance 
work  the  ‘  Home  Protection  Movement,’  for  that’s  just  what  it 
is,  and  these  words  furnish  the  text  for  our  best  argument  and  go 
convincingly  along  with  our  motto  :  ‘  For  God  and  Home  and 
Native  Land?  ’  ”  The  more  I  thought  about  all  this,  the  more  it 
grew  on  me,  and  in  1877,  when  invited  by  Henry  C.  Bowen,  of 
the  New  York  I?idependent,  to  speak  at  his  famous  “  Fourth  of 
July  Celebration,”  I  chose  “  Home  Protection  ”  for  my  theme  and 
brought  out  from  the  bidependent  office  my  ‘  ‘  Home  Protection 
Manual,”  which  I  distributed  among  our  white  ribbon  women 
throughout  the  nation.  We  called  our  petitions,  “  Home  Protec¬ 
tion  ,  ”  our  great  Illinois  campaign  in  1879  went  by  that  name, 
and  when  I  was  converted,  heart  and  soul,  to  the  Prohibition 
party,  I  believed,  as  I  do  still,  that  its  strength  would  be  immeas¬ 
urably  increased  by  adopting  Home  Protection  as  its  name.  But 
the  old  name  was  endeared  to  those  who  had  suffered  for  it,  and 
26 


402 


My  First  Ca7iipaign  Speech. 


they  were  not  disposed  to  give  it  up.  In  this  I  then,  and  always, 
believed  them  to  be  unwise. 

Directly  after  the  convention  I  went,  by  the  earnest  request  of 
Mr.  Daniels,  vice-presidential  nominee  of  the  Prohibition  party, 
to  speak  at  a  ratification  meeting  in  Cumberland,  Md.  I  dreaded 
the  encounter,  for,  except  at  our  temperance  conventions,  I  had  but 
once  in  my  life,  so  far  as  I  can  recall,  spoken  on  politics.*  To 
meet  the  “  world’s  people”  in  the  opening  of  a  fierce  campaign 
was  painful  to  me,  and  I  did  it  only  as  a  token  of  loyalty  to  our 
new  candidate.  This  town  among  the  hills  is  fore-ordained  to  be 
provincial,  by  reason  of  its  physical  geography.  Its  pretty  little 
opera  house  was  well  filled  that  night ;  but  the  air  felt  cold  as 
winter  to  my  spirit,  though  July’s  heat  was  really  there.  Curi¬ 
ously  enough  did  its  well-dressed  women  look  on  me,  standing 
forlorn  before  the  footlights,  on  a  bare  stage,  and  sighing  for  the 
heart-warmth  of  a  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  meet¬ 
ing,  where  women  would  have  crowded  around  me,  flowers  sent 
forth  their  perfume,  and  hymns  and  prayers  made  all  of  us  at 
home.  I  spoke,  no  doubt,  forlornly  ;  anyhow,  I  felt  forlorn.  The 
gainsaying  political  papers  said  next  day,  that  I  was  poor  enough, 
and  our  candidate  even  poorer  than  I  !  Major  Hilton,  of  Wash¬ 
ington,  D.  C. ,  was  with  us,  and  I  think  if  there  were  honors  that 
evening,  he  bore  them  away. 

Meanwhile,  we  had  heard  that  our  noble  martyr  of  the 
Prohibition  army  had  accepted  the  sacrifice,  not  without  in¬ 
tense  reluctance  and  most  bitter  heartache,  and  our  campaign 
began.  I  say  “  ours,”  because  the  white  ribbon  women  were  so 
thoroughly  enlisted  in  it.  By  going  as  delegates  to  its  convention, 
many  of  our  leaders  “  lent  their  influence,”  and  our  five  “  general 
officers,”  Mesdames  Buell,  Woodbridge,  Stevens,  and  Miss  Pugh, 
with  myself,  issued  a  card  expressing  our  hearty  sympathy,  and 
our  belief  that,  since  the  Prohibition  party,  of  all  the  four  then  in 
the  field,  had  indorsed  our  memorial,  we  were  bound  to  take  its 
part.  At  the  annual  meetings  of  that  battle  autumn,  nearly  all 
our  state  unions  did  this  in  one  form  or  another,  Iowa  and  Penn¬ 
sylvania  being  then,  as  now,  on  the  opposing  side. 

*The  single  exception  occurred  in  Canandaigua,  N.  Y.,  September,  1875,  when,  having 
spoken  by  invitation  before  the  Conference  Temperance  Society  of  the  M.  E.  Church,  I 
also  brieib  addressed  the  first  Prohibition  party  audience  I  had  ever  seen,  by  invitation 
of  Rev.  Mr.  Bissell ;  but  I  did  not  speak  as  an  adherent. 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE  ST.  LOUIS  CONVENTION. 

When  our  National  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union 
Convention  met  in  St.  Uouis,  just  before  the  swift  arbitrament  of 
the  memorable  election  day  that  changed  the  national  adminis¬ 
tration,  the  air  was  full  of  thunderbolts.  For  the  first  time, 
there  was  much  ado  to  get  a  church.  The  Central  Methodist 
agreed,  and  then  disagreed  to  our  assembling  there.  “Will 
you  promise  not  to  mention  politics  ?  ”  was  the  question.  “  Nay ; 
but  we  will  promise  that  the  politics  believed  in  by  us  shall 
most  assuredly  be  mentioned,”  wTas  the  reply.  “We  can  give 
up  the  high-toned  churches,  but  not  our  high-toned  ideas  ;  we 
will  meet  in  a  tent  in  a  public  square,  if  need  be,  but  we  will 
never  smother  a  single  sentence  that  we  wish  to  speak.  ’  ’ 

Our  St.  Louis  women  vrere  brave  and  staunch,  but  not  a 
little  tried  and  tossed  in  the  seething  counter-currents  of  the 
time.  Where  to  put  either  delegates  or  convention  they  hardly 
knew.  But  all  their  difficulties  dispersed  in  due  season.  Good 
church-people  of  liberal  spirit  opened  their  houses  ;  Rev.  John  A. 
Wilson,  a  generous-hearted  pastor  of  the  United  Presbyterian 
denomination,  secured  for  us  the  use  of  his  church,  saying,  “I 
traveled  with  your  national  president  some  years  ago  in  Egypt 
and  the  Holy  Land,  and  I  don’t  believe  she  will  permit  anything 
very  bad” — albeit  he  was  an  ardent  Blaine  man  and  I  fear  he 
repented  his  bargain  before  we  were  through. 

In  my  annual  address  I  used  as  a  theme  Mrs.  Lathrap’s  new 
and  suggestive  phrase,  and  spoke  on 

“  GOSPEL  POLITICS.” 

Dear  Sisters — By  the  laws  of  spiritual  dynamics  this  has  been  one  of 
our  best,  perhaps  because  one  of  our  most  progressive,  years.  Stationary 
pools  and  people  tend  toward  stagnation.  The  most  senseless  of  proverbs 
is  that  about  the  rolling  stone  that  gathers  no  moss.  What  does  it  want  of 
moss  when  it  can  get  momentum  ? 

(403) 


404 


Senator  Blair' s  Wise  Words. 


In  the  arena  of  National  Prohibition  we  shall  fight  our  hardest  battles 
and  win  our  most  substantial  victories.  Nothing  will  alarm  and  anger  our 
opponents  like  our  effort  in  this  field,  because  no  effort  less  direct  aims  a 
blow  so  decisive  at  the  very  vitals  of  their  trade. 

Senator  Blair,  of  New  Hampshire,  has  made  a  more  careful  study  of 
national  prohibition,  and  with  better  opportunity  to  learn,  than  any  other 
student  of  this  subject  in  the  nation,  and  he  thus  sums  up  his  opinion  : 
“For  more  than  half  a  century,  the  working  life  of  more  than  two  genera¬ 
tions,  gigantic  efforts  have  been  put  forth  by  noble  men  and  women,  by  phi¬ 
lanthropists,  by  statesmen,  and  by  states,  to  restrain  and  destroy  the  alcoholic 
evil  through  the  operations  of  moral  suasion  and  by  state  law.  Public 
sentiment  has  been  aroused  and  public  opinion  created,  and  at  times,  in  my 
belief,  it  might  have  been  crystallized  into  national  law  had  the  labor  been 
properly  directed.  But  it  has  failed,  as  it  will  always  fail,  so  long  as  we  save 
at  the  spigot  and  waste  at  the  bung,  if  I  may  borrow  an  expressive  simile 
from  the  business  of  the  enemy.  The  temperance  question  is  in  its  nature 
a  national  question,  just  as  much  so  as  the  tariff  is  and  more  than  slavery 
was.  It  is  waste  of  time  to  deal  with  it  only  by  towns  and  counties  and  states. 
All  possible  local  efforts  should  be  put  forth  against  the  liquor-death  every¬ 
where.  The  yellow  fever  should  be  fought  in  the  by-ways  and  hospitals,  by 
the  physician  and  the  nurses  as  well  as  by  the  quarantine  of  our  ports  and 
the  suspension  of  infected  traffic  by  national  law,  but  the  enemy  will  forever 
come  in  like  a  flood,  unless  the  nation,  which  is  assailed  as  a  nation,  defends 
itself  as  a  nation.  What  the  temperance  reform  most  needs  is  unification  of 
effort ,  nationalization.  Samson  was  not  more  completely  hampered  by  zvithes 
than  is  this  giant  reform  by  the  geographical  lines  of  states  ;  and  if  its  sup¬ 
porters  would  but  use  their  strength ,  they  would  at  once  find  their  natural 
arena  circumscribed  only  by  the  national  domain.  How  shall  this  be  done  ? 
By  concentration  upon  the  enactment  of  a  national  constitutional  law.  The 
nation  can  act  in  no  other  way  than  by  law  ;  and  now  there  is  no  national 
law  for  the  removal  of  the  alcoholic  evil.  On  the  contrary,  we  have  seen 
how,  by  guaranteeing  the  importation  and  transportation  and  permitting  the 
manufacture,  the  national  Constitution  is  the  very  citadel  of  the  rum-power.” 

Existing  parties  can  not  in  the  nature  of  the  case,  take  up  this  ques¬ 
tion.  Not  to  this  end  were  they  born  ;  not  for  this  cause  did  they  come  into 
the  world.  Upon  this  issue  the  voters  who  compose  them  are  irrevocably 
divided.  Twenty  years  ago  Governor  St.  John  and  Senator  John  Sherman 
voted  one  way.  Now  the  latter  champions  the  brewer’s  cause,  and  the 
former  is  Prohibition’s  standard-bearer.  Party  inclosures  must  be  broken 
down,  that  men  who  think  and  vote  alike  may  clasp  hands  in  a  political 
fraternity  where  the  issue  of  to-day  outranks  that  of  yesterday  or  of  to-mor¬ 
row.  A  friendly  editor  uttered  his  word  of  warning  to  us  in  terms  like 
these  :  “There  is  any  amount  of  political  lightning  in  the  air,  and  if  you 
are  not  careful  a  bolt  will  strike  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union.  ” 
Whereupon  our  brave  Mary  T.  Eathrap  replied  :  “Women  who  have  been 
fighting  Jersey  lightning  for  ten  years  are  n’t  afraid  of  the  political  kind.” 


Mastership  over  Ourselves. 


405 


Dear  sisters  we  must  stand  by  each  other  in  this  struggle.  Side  by  side, 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  we  must  move  forward,  with  no  break  in  the  ranks, 
no  aspersions,  no  careless,  harsh  or  cruel  judgments,  but  the  tenderest  and 
most  persistent  endeavor  to  keep  the  unity  of  the  spirit,  if  not  of  method, 
and,  above  all,  the  bond  of  peace.  Let  the  criticising  world  see  plainly  that 
concord  has  the  right  of  way  in  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union. 
In  all  the  turmoil  of  these  toilsome  days,  in  which  motives  of  which  we 
never  dreamed  are  foisted  on  us,  words  we  never  spoke  attributed,  and  deeds 
we  wouid  spurn  ascribed,  may  the  law  of  kindness  still  dw^ell  upon  our  lips 
and  the  spirit  of  a  loving  forbearance  keep  our  hearts  tender.  Let  me  give 
you  the  sweet  words  my  mother  used  to  speak  as  the  talismanic  charm  to 
still  my  turbulent  spirit  in  girlhood  days  :  “  Hath  any  wronged  thee  ?  Be 

bravely  revenged.  Slight  it ,  and  the  work's  begun.  Forgive  it,  and  'tis 
finished .”  Permit  me  also  to  give  you  golden  words,  spoken  by  one  of  the 
clearest  philosophic  minds  of  our  own  or  any  age.  They  may  cheer  you  in 
this  battle-hour  as  they  have  strengthened  me  :  ‘  ‘  Whoever  hesitates  to  utter 

that  which  he  thinks  the  highest  truth,  lest  it  should  be  too  much  in  advance 
of  the  time,  *  *  *  *  must  remember  that  while  he  is  a  descendant  of 
the  past,  he  is  a  parent  of  the  future  ;  and  that  his  thoughts  are  as  children  born 
to  him  which  he  may  not  carelessly  let  die.  He,  like  every  other  man,  may 
properly  consider  himself  as  one  of  myriad  agencies  through  which  works 
the  Great  First  Cause  ;  and  when  that  cause  produces  in  him  a  certain  belief 
he  is  thereby  authorized  to  profess  and  act  out  that  belief.  *  *  *  *  Not 
as  adventitious,  therefore,  will  the  wiseman  regard  the  faith  which  is  in  him. 
The  highest  truth  he  sees  he  will  fearlessly  utter ;  knowing  that,  let  what 
may  come  of  it,  he  is  thus  playing  his  right  part  in  the  world.” 

We  are  slowly  but  surely  attaining  to  the  grandest  mastership  in  all  the 
world,  mastership  over  our  own  spirits.  The  noblest  figure  of  contemporary 
history  is  Gladstone,  England’s  governmental  chief,  because  with  the  people 
ready  to  mob  him  one  day  and  to  worship  him  the  next,  he  holds  right  on 
his  way  quietly  and  patiently,  but  dauntlessly  true  to  his  convictions.  God 
has  set  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  for  a  grander  confession 
and  defense  of  the  faith  than  we  have  dreamed  as  yet ;  one  which  would 
blanch  our  cheeks,  perhaps,  and  make  our  hearts  heavy  with  fear,  could  we 
to-day  know  all  that  it  involves.  But  if  we  are  true  and  tender-hearted, 
holding  fast  the  hand  of  Christ,  we  shall  be  equal  to  the  emergencies  as  they 
arise,  no  matter  how  perilous  or  great.  Let  me  give  you  De  Tocqueville’s 
words,  for  a  motto  in  1884  :  “ Life  is  neither  a  pleasure  nor  a  pain.  It  is 

serious  business,  to  be  entered  on  with  courage  and  in  a  spirit  of  self -sacrificed 

The  general  work  of  our  conventions  falls  into  the  care  of 
two  committees,  one  on  a  statement  of  principles,  called  the 
“  Committee  on  Resolutions  the  other  on  formulation  of  plans, 
called  the  ‘‘Plan  of  Work  Committee,”  and  the  President’s 
Annual  Address  is  always  referred  to  these.  From  the  former 
committee  the  following  resolution  came,  and  led  to  the  great 


406 


The  St.  Louis  Resolution. 


“St.  Louis  Debate”  in  which  Mrs.  Mary  T.  Eathrap  so  distin¬ 
guished  herself  as  a  St.  John,  and  Mrs.  J.  Ellen  Foster  as  a 
Blaine,  woman  : 

We  refer  to  the  history  of  ten  years  of  persistent  moral-suasion  work  as 
fully  establishing  our  claim  to  be  called  a  non-political  society,  but  one  which 
steadfastly  follows  the  white  banner  of  prohibition  wherever  it  may  be  dis¬ 
played.  We  have,  however,  as  individuals,  always  allied  ourseh  es  in  local 
and'state  political  contests  with  those  voters  whose  efforts  and  ballots  have 
been  given  to  the  removal  of  the  dram-shop  and  its  attendant  evils,  and  at 
this  time,  while  recognizing  that  our  action  as  a  national  society  is  not 
binding  upon  states  or  individuals,  we  reaffirm  the  position  taken  by  the 
society  at  Louisville  in  1882,  and  at  Detroit  in  1883,  pledging  our  influ¬ 
ence  to  that  party,  by  whatever  name  called,  which  shall  furnish  us  the 
best  embodiment  of  prohibition  principles,  and  will  most  surely  protect  our 
homes.  And  as  we  now  know  which  national  party  gives  us  the  desired 
embodiment  of  the  principles  for  which  our  ten  years’  labor  has  been  ex¬ 
pended,  we  will  continue  to  lend  our  influence  to  the  national  political 
organization  which  declares  in  its  platform  for  National  Prohibition  and 
Home  Protection.  In  this,  as  in  all  progressive  effort,  we  wTill  endeavor 
to  meet  argument  wdth  argument,  misjudgment  with  patience,  denunci¬ 
ation  with  kindness,  and  all  our  difficulties  and  dangers  with  prayer. 

This  resolution  was  drawn  up  by  Mrs.  Mary  B.  Willard,  but 
the  last  sentence  was  my  own,  being  a  resolution  adopted  by  the 
first  National  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  Conven¬ 
tion  as  a  basis  of  action  immediately  following  the  Crusade. 
Men  who  heard  the  long  and  brilliant  argument,  pro  and  con,  on 
this  political  declaration — an  argument  that  packed  the  church 
and  crowded  the  aisles  hour  after  hour  with  standing  listeners — 
declared  that  it  had  not  been  equaled  for  courtesy,  and  not 
excelled  in  force,  wit,  pathos  and  earnestness  by  any  they  had 
known.  At  its  close,  the  ayes  and  noes  were  called,  for  the  first 
time  in  our  annals,  and  here  culminated  the  features  that  had 
made  the  debate  itself  so  remarkable,  for  nearly  every  delegate 
gave,  in  a  sentence,  her  reason  for  voting  as  she  did.  Mrs.  Dr. 
Erwin,  President  of  the  Mississippi  W.  C.  T.  U.,  one  of  the  saint- 
liest  and  most  motherly  of  women,  standing  with  Bible  open  in 
her  outstretched  hand,  lifted  her  eyes  as  one  who  prays,  and  said  : 
“  By  God’s  grace,  I  vote  this  way  for  the  sake  of  the  poor,  mis¬ 
guided  colored  people  of  the  South.” 

Beloved  as  she  was  by  them  and  a  student  of  their  needs  and 


‘  *  Bulldozing  ’  ’  by  Epithet . 


407 


wrongs,  she  felt  that  the  new  party  would  not  only  give  them 
standing-room  but  would  put  away  from  them  the  curse  that 
makes  their  votes  a  terror  now  to  temperance  homes. 

That  scene  has  passed  into  memory  and  will  be  recorded  in 
history, — for  then  and  there  the  fitting  representatives  of  Ameri¬ 
can  womanhood,  both  North  and  South,  “entered  politics”  for 
the  sake  of  home  protection,  and  when  they  came  they  came  to  stay. 

The  vote  stood  195  (including  seven  who  had  to  leave)  in 
favor  to  48  against  the  Resolution. 

The  situation  ‘  ‘  after  election  ’  ’  is  shadowed  forth  in  the  fol¬ 
lowing  call  to  prayer  written  by  me  and  issued  November  20, 
1884 : 

Beloved  Sisters  of  the  Local  Unions — These  are  the  times  that 
try  women’s  souls.  To  be  tolerant  toward  the  intolerant  is  a  difficult  grace, 
and  yet  its  exercise  is  imperiously  demanded  of  us. 

A  party  long  accustomed  to  success  is  in  defeat.  Thousands  of  leading 
men  see  their  hopes  blighted,  ambitions  overthrown,  perhaps  their  occu¬ 
pations  gone.  Party  journals  denounce  the  Prohibitionists  as  having 
caused  all  this,  and  “  fellows  of  the  baser  sort  ”  hang  ex-Governor  St.  John 
in  effigy.  The  W.  C.  T.  U.  is  termed  “a  political  party,”  and  subjected  to 
the  sharpest  criticism  by  men  who  found  no  fault  with  our  societies  in 
Iowa,  Kansas  and  other  states  where  they  “lent  their  influence”  to  the 
Republicans.  Free  speech  and  “a  free  ballot”  have,  within  a  fortnight, 
cost  many  a  voter  dear,  in  the  good-will  and  business  patronage  of  his 
neighbors,  while  obedience  to  the  most  profound  convictions  has  called 
down  bitter  imprecations  on  many  an  earnest  woman’s  head.  Our  own 
familiar  friends  in  whom  we  trusted,  have  uttered  these  words  in  public 
print  and  private  reprimand.  Not  from  the  ignorant  or  base,  but  from  cult¬ 
ured  scholars  and  Christian  gentlemen  have  come  these  words  and  deeds. 
Not  in  a  generation  has  such  a  cross-fire  of  denunciation  whistled  through 
the  air  as  that  now  aimed  at  those  who  “lent  their  influence”  to  the  Pro¬ 
hibition  party. 

All  this  you  know  from  the  things  that  you  have  suffered.  But  what  is 
our  duty  in  this  strife  of  tongues  ? 

Dear  sisters,  we  stand  before  the  people  as  followers  of  Him  ‘  ‘  who  when 
He  was  reviled,  reviled  not  again  ;  when  He  suffered  He  threatened  not, 
but  committed  Himself  to  Him  that  judgeth  righteously.  ”  Let  us,  therefore, 
pray  mightily  to  God  that  we  may  be  replenished  with  heavenly  grace  accord¬ 
ing  to  our  need,  so  that  the  law  of  kindness  still  shall  dwell  in  our  hearts 
and  on  our  tongues,  and  charity  (or  love)  which  *  ‘  vaunteth  not  itself,  is  not 
easily  provoked,  doth  not  behave  itself  unseemly,  ’  ’  shall  control  our  every 
action.  Next  to  God’s  spirit  dwelling  in  our  own,  nothing  will  so  help  us 
to  be  considerate  and  patient,  as  to  pray  for  and  speak  gently  of  those  who 
in  our  judgment,  have  done  injustice  to  our  motives,  our  record  and  our 


408 


Mrs.  Foster's  Protest. 


character.  Let  us  be  careful  not  to  do  them  a  parallel  injustice,  but  by 
recalling  their  noble  qualities  and  their  kindness  in  the  past,  keep  them 
hidden  in  the  citadel  of  our  generous  regard  and  confidence  until  this  storm 
be  overpassed. 

Let  us  try,  also,  to  put  ourselves  in  their  places  and  to  realize  that  they 
too,  are  sincere,  even  as  we  are,  and  acting,  the  great  majority  of  them  at 
least,  from  patriotic  motives.  We  seek  the  same  goal,  but  have  chosen  dif¬ 
ferent  roads,  each  one  believing  his  way  the  best.  In  time  wTe  shall  agree  to 
disagree  and  go  on  without  bitterness.  “  A  soft  answer  turneth  away  wrath, 
but  grievous  words  stir  up  anger.”  May  God  fill  our  mouths  with  soft 
answers  in  these  wrathful  days  !  If  we  women  can  not  mitigate  the  asperities 
of  politics,  woeful  will  be  the  day  of  our  influence  therein,  whether  that 
influence  be  indirect,  as  now,  or  direct,  as  in  some  future  time.  But  if  God 
be  with  us  we  can  save  our  country  as  surely  as  Joan  of  Arc  crowned  her  king. 

That  the  infinite  Spirit  of  Christ  may  rule  and  reign  in  our  hearts,  mak¬ 
ing  them  tender,  true  and  teachable,  we  ask  you  to  observe,  as  a  day  of  fast¬ 
ing  and  prayer,  the  fourth  of  December,  reading  on  that  day  those  passages 
of  Scripture  which  relate  to  God’s  power  in  the  affairs  of  government,  and 
also  such  as  illustrate  the  supreme  fact  that  ‘  ‘  he  that  is  slow  to  anger  is  bet¬ 
ter  than  the  mighty  ;  and  he  that  ruleth  his  .spirit  than  he  that  taketh  a  city.  ’  * 
Let  us  exhort  you  more  earnestly  than  ever  before  to  observe  individually  the 
noontide  hour  of  prayer.  Our  prayer  for  you,  beloved  friends,  shall  also  be 
that  “your  faith  fail  not,”  but  that  you  “stand  fast  in  the  liberty  wherewith 
Christ  hath  made  you  free,”  and  “having done  all,  stand.” 

Yours,  “  with  firmness  in  the  right  as  God  gives  us  to  see  the  right,” 

Francks  E.  Willard,  President. 

Caroline  B.  Buell,  Corresponding  Secretary. 

The  next  year,  1885,  at  Philadelphia,  the  same  political  res¬ 
olution  was  again  adopted  by  a  vote  of  two  hundred  and  forty-five 
to  thirty,  and  Mrs.  Foster  presented  a  protest  signed  by  herself 
with  twenty-six  others,  to  which,  by  order  of  the  convention,  a 
committee  consisting  of  Mesdames  Woodbridge,  Tathrap  and 
Hoffman  made  reply. 

At  Minneapolis,  in  1886,  the  vote  stood  two  hundred  and 
forty-one  for  the  Prohibition  party  to  forty-two  against,  and  at 
Nashville,  in  1887,  the  protest  had  but  fourteen  names  out  of 
three  hundred  and  forty-one  delegates.  Meanwhile,  at  Minne¬ 
apolis,  Mrs  Rastall,  President  Kansas  \V.  C.  T.  U.,  offered  the 
following,  which  was  adopted  : 

Having  for  three  years  thoroughly  discussed  and  established  by  a  large 
majority  vote  our  position  in  regard  to  the  Prohibition  party,  I  move  the 
adoption  of  the  following  by-law  : 

“  Any  resolution  referring  to  our  attitude  toward  political  parties  is  to 
be  decided  by  vote  without  discussion.” 


GENERAL  OFFICERS  NATIONAL  W.  C.  T.  U. 


CAROLINE  B.  BUELL,  Cor.  Sec. 

MARY  A.  WOODBRICGE, 


ESTHER  PUGH,  Treas. 

FRANCES  E.  WILLARD.  Pres. 

Rec.  Sec’y.  L.  M.  N.  STEVENS,  Ass't  Rec.  Secy. 


The  Famous  By-Law . 


409 


This  was  in  force  at  Nashville  only,  and  was  rescinded  by 
an  overwhelming  majority  at  New  York.  At  Nashville  an  amend¬ 
ment  to  our  Constitution  offered  the  previous  year  by  Mrs.  Foster, 
was  voted  down.  It  read  as  follows  : 

“This  association  shall  be  known  as  the  National  Woman’s  Christian 
Temperance  Union,  and  shall  be  non-sectarian  in  religious,  and  non-partisan 
in  political  work.” 

The  convention  held  that  our  non-sectarian  character  had 
been  thoroughly  established  from  the  beginning,  and  as  to  being 
non-partisan,  it  was  far  from  our  intent.  I11  St.  Louis  we  had 
crossed  the  Rubicon  forever,  and  with  us  it  was  a  case  of  ‘  ‘  sink  or 
swim,  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  give  my  hand  and  my  heart 
to  this  vote.”  We  could  not  as  a  national  society  consent  to  re¬ 
main  in  relations  of  equal  friendship  toward  one  national  party 
that  ignored,  another  that  denounced,  and  a  third  that  espoused, 
the  cause  of  prohibition.  But  we  did  not  appreciate  the  anger 
of  a  party  in  defeat — indeed,  we  had  not  supposed  that  defeat 
was  in  store  for  the  Republicans. 


PORTLAND  (OR.)  W.  C.  T.  U.  SHIELD. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


WOMEN  IN  COUNCIL. 

Patiently  the  ‘  ‘  Old  Guard  ’  ’  (for  so  we  now  called  the 
National  W.  C.  T.  U.)  held  on  its  way.  What  it  hoped  and 
prayed  for  came  true,  the  good  men  who  were  angry  thought 
better  of  the  situation  after  awhile.  Ministerial  brethren,  even, 
who  had  declared  that  our  pulpit  notices  should  be  read  no  longer, 
changed  their  minds  and  let  us  hold  meetings  in  the  dear  old  home 
churches  as  aforetime. 

At  our  next  National  Convention  in  Philadelphia  (autumn  of 
1885),  forty  churches  were  opened  to  our  speakers  on  the  Sabbath 
day,  though  we  chose  Association  Hall  in  preference  to  the  beau¬ 
tiful  edifices  that  were  offered  us.  Among  the  beautiful  decora¬ 
tions  of  this  Hall  were  the  banners  and  other  devices  that  had 
made  our  booth  at  the  late  Exposition  in  New  Orleans  a  fitting 
symbol  of  our  womanly  work.  That  the  woman-touch  is  thus  to 
brighten  every  nook  and  corner  of  earth,  has  always  been  a  car¬ 
dinal  doctrine  of  my  creed,  coming  to  me  first  as  an  intuition, 
later  on  as  a  deduction,  but  always  as  an  emphatic  affirmation. 

Two  hundred  and  eighty-two  delegates  were  present  from 
torty  states  and  territories.  Nearly  eleven  thousand  dollars  had 
been  received  by  our  treasurer  and  our  convention  was  conceded 
to  be  by  far  the  strongest  and  the  best  that  we  had  ever  held. 
Clearly,  our  branch  of  the  temperance  work  had  not  “been  set 
back  twenty  years.”  Forty-four  district  and  national  depart¬ 
ments  of  work  were  provided  for ;  a  new  constitution  was 
adopted,,  requiring  ten  cents  per  capita  to  be  paid  into  the  national 
treasury,  instead  of  five  cents,  as  heretofore ;  our  superintendents 
were  organized  into  a  committee  to  confer  with  the  Executive 
Committee.  Headquarters  were  removed  from  New  York,  where 
they  had  never  flourished,  to  161  Ea  Salle  Street,  Chicago,  Ill., 

(410) 


Pageants  of  the  New  Crusade . 


4i  i 

where,  in  conjunction  with  our  Woman’s  Temperance  Publishing 
House,  they  have  greatly  gained  in  power,  and  the  White  Cross 
movement  was  adopted  as  a  feature  of  our  work. 

I  was  made,  per  force ,  superintendent  of  this  new  department, 
also  of  our  national  department  of  publications,  and  had  that  of 
organization  assigned  me  as  an  ex  officio  duty. 

The  Philadelphia  Convention  was  remarkable  for  the  large 
number  of  white  ribbon  women  in  attendance  as  visitors,  for  the 
number  of  distinguished  persons  outside  our  ranks  who  addressed 
it,  also  for  the  deference  manifested  by  ministerial  and  other 
bodies  in  sending  us  fraternal  delegates.  Probably  no  conven¬ 
tion  ever  assembled  in  America  in  an  auditorium  more  beauti¬ 
fully  decorated.  The  escutcheons  of  states,  the  banners  of  the 
forty  departments,  the  gay  pennons  of  state  and  local  unions,  of 
young  women’s  societies,  and  of  the  children’s  Loyal  Temperance 
Legion,  recalled  the  pictures  and  pageants  of  the  mediaeval 
Crusaders  and  knights  of  olden  chivalry.  Mrs.  Josephine  R. 
Nichols,  national  superintendent  of  introducing  temperance  work 
at  expositions,  state  and  county  fairs,  and  other  great  assemblies 
of  the  people,  had  set  our  women  at  work  preparing  these  beau¬ 
tiful  bits  of  color  and  emblems  of  sentiment  and  purpose,  for  the 
New  Orleans  Exposition,  where  we  had  a  handsome  booth.  I 
fear,  lest  in  setting  forth  the  political  attitude  of  our  society  and 
my  relation  thereto,  I  am  doing  injustice  to  its  real,  though  less 
observed,  activities.  For  example,  at  St.  Louis  nearly  thirty 
distinct  departments  were  passed  in  review  by  their  chiefs,  in 
reports  printed  and  circulated  throughout  the  convention,  and 
methods  for  improving  all  of  these  departments  were  duly  dis¬ 
cussed  and  acted  on  ;  a  strong  corps  of  national  organizers  was 
selected,  and  all  our  publishing  interests  provided  for. 

Indeed,  the  versatility  of  our  W.  C.  T.  U.  can  hardly  be 
better  illustrated  than  by  the  fact  that  this  same  convention  not 
only  swung  us  into  politics,  but  adopted  the  following  petition  to 
editors  of  fashion-plate  magazines,  reported  to  us  from  the  Press 
Department,  which  sends  out  news,  temperance  literature  and  bul¬ 
letins  to  thousands  of  papers,  from  Tampa  Bay  to  Puget  Sound, 
and  of  which  Miss  Mary  Henry  is  our  present  Superintendent : 

Dear  Friend — Knowing  that  the  fashion  in  woman’s  dress  which  re¬ 
quires  the  constriction  of  the  waist  and  the  compression  of  the  trunk 


412 


The  Fashion  Plate  Petition . 


is  one  which  not  only  deforms  the  body  in  a  manner  contrary  to  good 
taste,  but  results  in  serious,  sometimes  irreparable,  injury  to  important 
vital  organs,  and  believing  that  the  existence  of  the  widespread  perversion 
of  natural  instincts  which  renders  this  custom  so  prevalent  may  be  fairly 
attributable,  in  part,  at  least,  to  erroneous  education  of  the  eye,  and  the 
establishment  of  a  false  and  artificial  standard  of  symmetry  and  beauty, 
which  in  our  opinion,  is  largely  the  result  of  the  influence  of  the  popular 
fashion-plates  of  the  day,  we,  the  undersigned,  most  respectfully  petition 
you  that,  in  the  name  of  science  and  humanity,  you  will  lend  your  aid 
toward  the  elevation  of  woman  to  a  more  perfect  physical  estate,  and  con¬ 
sequently  to  the  elevation  of  humanity,  by  making  the  figures  upon  your 
fashion-plates  conform  more  nearly  to  the  normal  standard  and  the  condi¬ 
tions  requisite  for  the  maintenance  of  health. 

The  Minneapolis  Convention  was  held  in  an  enormous  rink 
which  was  packed  to  the  doors  whenever  any  speaker  of  special 
prominence  appeared.  During  the  great  debate  on  one  of  the  last 
evenings,  the  scene  was  full  of  a  new  significance,  for  women  of 
the  South  as  well  as  the  North,  with  strong  and  ready  utterance 
declared  for  prohibition  in  politics  as  well  as  in  law.  General 
Nettleton,  a  gentleman  of  local  prominence  and  champion  of  the 
anti-saloon  (Republican  “  non-partisan”)  movement,  spoke  to  the 
convention,  and  fairly — or  most  unfairly — scolded  us  ;  the  quiet 
self-restraint  with  which  he  was  heard,  and  the  immediate  return 
of  the  convention  to  the  order  of  the  day,  without  making  note 
or  comment,  as  soon  as  he  had  finished,  afford,  as  I  believe,  the 
most  palpable  proof  on  record  that  women  are  capable  of  consti¬ 
tuting  a  really  deliberative  body. 

Perhaps  the  most  notable  feature  of  that  convention  was  the 
presence  of  Mrs.  Margaret  Bright  Lucas,  of  London,  England, 
the  sister  of  John  Bright,  and  the  first  president  of  the  “  World’s 
Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union.”  This  distinguished 
lady  crossed  the  sea  when  nearly  seventy  years  of  age,  in  token 
of  sisterly  good-will  toward  American  temperance  women  and 
their  work.  She  came  under  escort  of  our  own  Mrs.  Hannah 
Whitall  Smith  and  accompanied  by  two  other  English  ladies. 
Her  reception  was  magnificent,  the  convention  rising  in  separate 
groups,  first  the  Crusaders  in  a  body,  second  the  women  of  New 
England,  then  of  the  Middle  States,  after  these  the  Western,  and 
the  Pacific  Coast,  and  last  (by  way  of  climax)  the  Southern  rep¬ 
resentatives,  while  the  English  and  American  flags  waved  from 
the  platform  and  all  joined  in  singing,  “  God  save  the  Queen.” 


Address  to  Labor  Organizations. 


4i3 


One  of  the  most  important  suggestions  made  by  me  to  this 
convention  was  that  of  an  address  to  the  Labor  Organizations. 
The  following  is  a  specimen  of  tens  of  thousands  that  were  printed  : 

AN  ADDRESS  TO  AEE  KNIGHTS  OF  LABOR,  TRADES  UNIONS, 
AND  OTHER  LABOR  ORGANIZATIONS. 

FROM  THE  NATIONAL  WOMAN’S  CHRISTIAN  TEMPERANCE  UNION. 

Headquarters  of  the  Nationae  W.  C.  T.  U.,  ] 

161  La  Salle  Street,  Chicago,  Iee.,  >■ 

November  11,  1886.  J 

To  all  Working  Men  and  Women — Brothers  and  Sisters  of  a  Common  Hope: 

We  come  to  you  naturally  as  to  our  friends  and  allies.  With  such  of 
your  methods  as  involve  cooperation,  arbitration  and  the  ballot-box,  we  are 
in  hearty  sympathy.  Measures  which  involve  compulsion  of  labor,  the  de¬ 
struction  of  property  or  harm  to  life  Or  limb,  we  profoundly  deplore,  and  we 
believe  the  thoughtful  and  responsible  among  your  ranks  must  equally  de¬ 
plore  them,  as  not  only  base  in  themselves,  but  a  great  hindrance  to  your 
own  welfare  and  success.  We  rejoice  in  your  broad  platform  of  mutual 
help,  which  recognizes  neither  sex,  race,  nor  creed.  Especially  do  we 
appreciate  the  tendency  of  your  great  movement  to  elevate  women  indus¬ 
trially  to  their  rightful  place,  by  claiming  that  they  have  equal  pay  for  equal 
work  ;  recognizing  them  as  officers  and  members  of  your  societies,  and 
advocating  the  ballot  in  their  hands  as  their  rightful  weapon  of  self-help  in 
our  representative  government. 

As  temperance  women,  we  have  been  especially  glad  to  note  your  hostile 
attitude  toward  the  saloon,  the  worst  foe  of  woman,  of  the  w’orkingman, 
and  of  the  home.  We  read  with  joy  of  the  vow  made  by  the  newly  elected 
officers  of  the  Knights  of  Labor  at  the  convention  in  Richmond,  Va.,  when, 
with  hands  raised  to  heaven,  they  pledged  themselves  to  total  abstinence. 

In  addressing  you  at  this  time  we  wish  to  offer  our  sincere  congratula¬ 
tions  upon  your  achievements  as  practical  helpers  in  that  great  temperance 
reform  which  engages  our  steadfast  work  and  prayers,  and  which,  as  we 
believe,  involves,  beyond  all  other  movements  of  this  age,  your  happiness 
and  elevation.  Permit  us  to  ask  your  careful  consideration  of  this  statement 
of  our  belief : 

The  central  question  of  labor  reform  is  not  so  much  how  to  get  higher 
wages ,  as  how  to  turn  present  wages  to  better  account.  For  waste  ha: ms 
most  those  who  can  least  afford  it.  It  is  not  over  production  so  much  as 
under-consumption  that  grinds  the  faces  of  the  workingmen.  Fourteen 
hundred  millions  annually  drawn,  chiefly  from  the  pockets  of  working 
men,  by  saloon-keepers  and  cigar-dealers,  means  less  flour  in  the  barrel, 
less  coal  in  the  cellar,  and  less  clothing  for  the  laborers’  families.  We 
grieve  to  see  them  give  their  money  for  that  which  is  not  bread,  and  their 
labor  for  that  which  satisfleth  not.  We  suggest  that  if,  by  your  request,  pay 
day  were  universally  changed  from  Saturday  to  Monday,  this  would  do 
much  to  increase  the  capital  at  home. 


4H 


How  to  Turn  Wag-os  to  Better  Account. 


The  life  insurance  statistics  prove  that  while  the  average  life  of  the 
moderate  drinker  is  but  thirty-five  years  and  a  half,  that  of  the  total  ab¬ 
stainer  is  sixty-four  years.  The  successful  explorers  and  soldiers,  the 
famous  athletes,  pedestrians,  rowers  and  shots  are  men  who  do  not  cobweb 
their  brains,  or  palsy  their  nerves  with  alcoholic  drink. 

We  believe  that  the  work  of  our  societies,  resulting  in  laws  by  which 
nearly  one  half  the  children  of  the  United  States  are  being  taught  in  the 
public  schools  the  evil  effects  of  intoxicating  liquors  upon  the  tissues  of  the 
body  and  the  temper  of  the  mind,  merits  your  earnest  cooperation,  and 
will  prove  one  of  your  strongest  re-inforcements  in  the  effort  to  elevate 
your  families  to  nobler  levels  of  opportunity.  We  believe  that  the  study  of 
hygiene,  including  a  knowledge  of  the  most  healthful  foods  and  the  dis¬ 
covery  that  these  are  of  the  cheaper  and  non-stimulating  class,  with  a  care¬ 
ful  consideration  of  the  scientific  methods  by  which,  in  the  preparation  of 
food,  a  little  can  be  made  to  go  a  long  way  in  home  economies,  is  well 
worthy  of  your  attention.  We  ask  you  to  aid  us  in  our  endeavors  to  have 
taught  in  all  the  departments  of  our  public  schools  those  beneficent  laws  of 
wealth  which  relate  to  wholesome  living  in  respect  to  diet,  dress,  sleep,  ex¬ 
ercise  and  ventilation,  so  that  this  teaching  shall  be  given  to  every  child  as 
one  of  the  surest  means  to  its  truest  happiness. 

We  ask  your  attention  to  our  White  Cross  pledge  of  equal  chastity  for 
man  and  woman  ;  of  pure  language  and  a  pure  life.  We  ask  your  help  in 
our  efforts  to  secure  adequate  protection  by  law  for  the  daughters  of  the  poor 
and  rich  alike,  from  the  cruelty  of  base  and  brutal  men.  We  ask  your  help 
in  our  endeavors  to  preserve  the  American  Sabbath  with  its  rest  and  quiet, 
redeeming  it  from  being  as  now  the  harvest-time  of  the  saloon-keeper,  when 
he  gathers  in  the  hard  earnings  of  the  workingman,  and  we  promise  you 
our  co-operation  in  }^our  efforts  to  secure  the  Saturday  half-holiday,  which,  ^ 
we  believe,  will  do  so  much  to  change  the  Sabbath  from  a  day  of  recreation 
to  one  of  rest  at  home  and  for  the  worship  of  God.  We  rejoice  to  note 
that  the  Central  Labor  Union  of  New  York  City  petitioned  the  municipal 
officers  to  close  saloons  upon  the  Sabbath  Day,  and  we  earnestly  hope  that 
all  such  societies  may  soon  petition  for  their  closing  every  day,  and  order  a 
perpetual  boycott  upon  the  dealers  in  alcoholic  poison. 

We  call  your  attention  to  our  departments  of  evangelistic  temperance 
meetings  ;  work  for  railroad  employes,  lumbermen,  herdsmen,  miners,  sol¬ 
diers  and  sailors  ;  also  to  our  efforts  to  organize  free  kitchen  gardens  and 
kindergartens,  and  Bands  of  Hope  ;  to  supply  free  libraries  and  reading 
rooms,  temperance  lodging-houses  and  restaurants,  and  to  reach  a  helping 
hand  to  fallen  women  as  well  as  fallen  men.  We  have  a  publishing  house 
at  161  La  Salle  Street,  Chicago,  which  sent  out  thirty  million  pages  of  tem¬ 
perance  literature  in  the  last  year,  which  is  conducted  by  women,  its  types 
being  set  by  women  compositors.  Our  National  organ,  The  Union  Signal, 
has  good  words  for  all  lawful  efforts  made  by  working  men  and  women  for 
their  own  best  interests. 

We  ask  you  to  do  all  in  your  power  for  the  cause  of  prohibition,  which 
is  pre-eminently  your  cause.  With  the  dram-shop  and  its  fiendish  tempta- 


Welcomed  to  Nashville. 


4i5 


tions  overthrown,  what  might  you  not  attain  of  that  self-mastery  which  is 
the  first  condition  of  success  ;  and  what  might  you  not  achieve  of  protection 
and  happiness  in  those  homes  which  are  the  heart’s  true  resting  places  ! 
Your  ballots  hold  the  balance  of  power  in  this  land  of  the  world’s  hope. 
We  ask  those  of  you  who  are  voters  to  cast  them  only  for  such  measures  and 
such  men  as  are  solemnly  committed  to  the  prohibition  of  every  brewery, 
distillery  and  dram-shop  in  the  nation.  And  that  women  may  come  to  the 
rescue  in  this  great  emergency,  also  as  an  act  of  justice  toward  those  who 
have  the  most  sacred  claim  on  your  protection,  we  hope  that  you  may  see 
your  way  clear  to  cast  your  ballots  only  for  such  measures  and  such  men  as 
are  pledged  to  the  enfranchisement  of  women. 

In  all  this,  we  speak  to  you  as  those  who  fervently  believe  that  the  com¬ 
ing  of  Christ’s  kingdom  in  the  earth  means  Brotherhood.  We  urge  you 
with  sisterly  earnestness  and  affection  to  make  the  New  Testament  your  text¬ 
book  of  political  economy,  and  to  join  us  in  the  daily  study  of  His  blessed 
words,  who  spake  as  never  man  spake.  His  pierced  hand  is  lifting  up  this 
sorrowful,  benighted  wTorld  into  the  light  of  God.  In  earnest  sympathy  let 
us  go  forward  to  work  out  His  golden  precepts  into  the  world’s  life  and  law 
by  making  first  of  all  His  law  and  life  our  own. 

Yours  for  God  and  Home  and  Every  Land, 

Frances  E.  Wieeard,  President. 

Caroline  B.  Bueee,  Corresponding  Secretary. 

N.  B. — Local  unions  please  have  this  printed  in  all  the  papers  practicable. 

It  was  intended  by  the  convention'' s  action  at  Minneapolis  to  recommend 
each  local  union  to  take  copies  of  the  preceding  address  to  the  local  labor  or¬ 
ganizations  of  its  own  town  or  cityy  and  ask  them  to  discuss  and  adopt  a 
resolution  concerning  it ;  also  to  bring  the  address  before  district ,  state  and 
national  conferences  of  workingmen  for  their  action.  By  this  means ,  great 
good  can  be  done ,  in  an  educational  way ,  for  the  cause  of  temperance  and  of 
labor. 

In  1887  we  once  more  wended  our  way  southward,  Balti¬ 
more  (in  1878),  Louisville  (in  1881)  and  St.  Louis  (in  1884), 
having  been  the  three  points  farthest  south,  at  which  the 
National  Convention  had  been  held  up  to  this  date. 

Ample  preparations  were  made  for  us  by  Mrs.  Judge  East, 
Mrs.  Judge  Baxter,  and  other  ladies  of  Nashville,  the  Athens  of 
the  nation  as  well  as  of  the  South — if  the  proportion  of  students 
to  inhabitants  and  the  number  and  variety  of  institutions  of 
learning  is  considered. 

On  the  opening  morning  a  rare  picture  was  presented  in  the 
elegantly  adorned  hall  with  three  hundred  and  forty-one  delegates 
present  from  thirty-seven  states,  five  territories  and  the  District 
of  Columbia,  and  the  platform  crowded  with  notables  of  Vander- 


4i6 


Noted  Guests. 


bilt  University  and  the  M.  E.  Church,  South,  with  whom  this 
great  institution  outranks  all  others  as  Harvard  does  wTith  the 
people  of  New  England.  The  Southern  delegates  were  out  in 
force  and  it  was  admitted  by  the  press,  which  treated  us  most 
courteously,  that  there  was  no  denying  the  fact  that  this  conven¬ 
tion  was  not  made  up  of  the  kind  of  women  dreaded  in  that 
conservative  region,  but  that  our  delegates  were  well-dressed, 
sunny-faced,  winsome,  home  women,  but  at  the  same  time,  women 
with  minds  of  their  own. 

William  Jones,  the  noted  English  Quaker,  and  Peace  philan¬ 
thropist,  was  our  guest  at  this  convention  and  a  magnificent 
reception  was  given  in  his  honor  by  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Cole,  at 
which  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  officers  and  leading  Southern 
ladies  assisted  in  receiving. 

Rev.  Dr.  Alfred  A.  Wright,  of  Cambridge,  one  of  the  best 
Greek  scholars  in  the  country,  was  our  guest  also,  and  then  and 
there  began  his  work  as  instructor  in  our  Evangelistic  Depart¬ 
ment,  which  has  widened  and  deepened  until  now  he  has  charge 
of  the  Course  of  Study  for  Evangelists  and  Deaconesses  in  that 
branch  of  the  service. 

Pundita  Ramabai,  in  her  white  robes,  was  a  central  figure, 
and  her  plaintive  appeal  for  the  high-caste  Hindu  widows,  a 
memorable  event  in  the  convention. 

Mrs.  J.  Ellen  Foster  was  not  present  this  year,  being  on  a 
health  trip  in  Europe.  The  non-partisan  Republican  delegates 
were  not,  therefore,  a  strong  force  in  the  convention,  though  the 
usual  protest  was  circulated  and  received  fourteen  signatures. 

We  adopted  our  customary  resolutions  on  controverted  points, 
the  Southern  press  making  certainly  no  more  ado  than  the  North¬ 
ern  had  often  made  under  like  circumstances.  The  following 
resolutions  would  have  been  bomb-shells  in  the  camp  a  few  years 
earlier,  but  now  the  first  couplet  occasioned  almost  no  debate,  and 
the  second  was  adopted  with  practical  unanimity,  excepting  the 
dissent  of  Iowra  and  a  few  other  delegates. 

Resolved ,  That  the  success  of  municipal  suffrage  in  Kansas  convinces 
us  that  no  stronger  weapon  has  been  hurled  against  the  liquor  power  ;  we 
therefore  urge  upon  our  members  the  importance  of  trying  to  secure  this 
power  in  any  and  all  states  and  territories  where  there  is  a  prospect  of  suc¬ 
cess  in  such  an  undertaking. 


John  B.  Finch. 


417 


Resolved,  That  an  amendment  to  the  national  Constitution  i9  the 
final  goal  of  all  those  efforts  for  the  enfranchisement  of  women  which 
shall  deal  the  death  blow  to  the  liquor  traffic,  and  for  the  first  time  provide 
adequate  protection  for  the  home. 

Resolved,  That  we  rejoice  in  the  great  successes  that  have  been 
gained  by  the  Prohibition  party  during  the  past  year  and  we  again  pledge 
it  our  hearty  co-operation,  assuring  it  of  our  prayers  and  sympathy. 

Resolved,  That  we  ask  the  Prohibition  party  at  its  coming  National 
Convention  to  re-affirm  its  former  position  in  regard  to  woman’s  ballot. 

We  placed  on  record  our  protest  against  personalities  in  pol¬ 
itics,  sending  the  same  to  the  leaders  of  all  parties,  and  we  rejoice 
that  the  campaign  of  1888  largely  fulfilled  our  hopes,  except  that 
the  after-election  abuse  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  and  its  leaders,  by  old 
party  organs,  has  been,  in  view  of  the  beneficent  work  and  record 
of  the  society,  nothing  less  than  unmanly,  and  we  feel  assured 
that  history  will  so  pronounce  it.  This  is  the  Nashville  reso¬ 
lution  : 

Resolved ,  That  with  a  deep  sense  of  the  significance  of  such  action, 
we  women,  representatives  of  thirty-seven  states  and  five  territories,  do 
most  solemnly  urge  upon  all  political  parties  and  partisan  papers  the  duty 
of  avoiding,  in  the  pending  Presidential  campaign,  the  personal  vilification 
and  abuse  that  characterized  the  last,  and  we  call  upon  them  to  consider 
the  fact  that  the  women  of  the  North  and  the  South  have  clasped  hands  in 
concord  and  co-operation,  which  is  a  most  practical  proof  that  war  issues 
are  dead,  and  that  the  land  should  have  rest  from  reviving  them  for  cam 
paign  purposes.  We  protest  as  women  against  this  outrage  upon  the  grow¬ 
ing  spirit  of  fraternity,  and  reiterate  the  cry  of  the  great  general,  “  Let  us 
have peace  /” 

We  lost  that  most  brilliant  of  our  leaders,  John  B.  Finch, 
October  3,  1887.  At  once  the  thought  came  to  many  of  us, 
“Samuel  Dickie,  Michigan’s  trusted  leader  in  the  Constitutional 
Amendment  campaign,  is  his  natural  successor.  ” 

A  meeting  of  the  National  Committee  of  the  Prohibition 
party  was  held  in  Battery  D,  Chicago,  at  the  close  of  1887,  to 
elect  a  new  chairman.  The  attendance  was  general  and  enthusi¬ 
asm  at  white  heat.  Professor  Dickie  was  chosen  ;  woman’s  ballot 
as  a  plank  in  the  platform  was  warmly  indorsed,  Rev.  Anna  Shaw 
making  a  most  telling  argument  in  its  favor,  and  plans  for  the 
campaign  of  1888  were  outlined.  At  this  meeting  a  memorial 
service  was  held  in  honor  of  Mr.  Finch  and  I  was  chosen  to  pro¬ 
nounce  his  eulogy. 

27 


CHAPTER  V. 


WHITE  CROSS  AND  WHITE  SHIELD. 

The  most  pointed  and  practical  standard  of  daily  living  of 
which  I  can  think,  is  to  permit  in  one’s  self  no  open  habit  in 
word  or  deed  that  others  might  not  safely  imitate,  and  no  secret 
habit  that  one  would  be  ashamed  to  have  the  best  and  purest 
know.  Anything  less  than  this  is  vastly  beneath  our  privilege. 
Having  thus  made  the  only  adequate  preparation  for  a  work  so 
holy,  we  may  send  out  our  plans  and  purposes  to  the  wide  world 
of  manhood  and  of  womanhood,  calling  upon  all  to  climb  the 
heights  whence  alone  we  shall  see  God. 

When  the  Crusade  began,  no  one  would  have  predicted  that 
twelve  years  later  we  should  be  as  earnestly  at  work  for  fallen 
women  as  we  were  then  for  fallen  men. 

That  we  are  so  doing,  is  because  we  have  learned  in  this  long 
interval,  that  'intemperance  and  impurity  are  iniquity’s  Siamese 
Twins  ;  that  malt  liquors  and  wines  have  special  power  to  tarnish 
the  sacred  springs  of  being  ;  that  every  house  of  ill-repute  is  a 
secret  saloon  and  nearly  every  inmate  an  inebriate.  Unnatural 
and  unspeakable  crimes  against  the  physically  weaker  sex  make 
the  daily  papers  read  like  a  modern  edition  of  Fox’s  Martyrs. 
A  madness  not  excelled,  if  indeed,  equaled,  in  the  worse  days  of 
Rome,  seems  to  possess  the  inflamed  natures  of  men,  let  loose 
from  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  saloons  of  the  nation 
upon  the  weak  and  unarmed  women,  whose  bewildering  danger  it 
is  to  have  attracted  the  savage  glances  of  these  men  or  to  be 
bound  to  them  by  the  sacred  tie  of  wife  or  mother  in  a  bondage 
worse  than  that  which  lashes  the  living  to  the  dead. 

But  our  Iowa  sisters  were  in  the  field  as  early  as  1879,  and  at 
the  annual  meeting  of  their  State  W.  C.  T.  U.,  in  response  to  the 
plea  of  Mrs.  L.  B.  Benedict,  they  resolved  to  found  a  Home  for 
penitent,  erring  women,  and  to  that  end  established  a  department 

(418) 


4X9 


White  Cross  Life-boat  Launched  at  Philadelphia. 

of  work.  Maine  W.  C.  T.  U.  has  set  us  a  grand  example  with 
its  Industrial  Home,  New  York  with  its  “Christian  Home  for 
Inebriate  Women,”  Cleveland  with  its  “Open  Door,”  Chicago 
with  its  “Anchorage,”  and  many  cities  East  and  West  by  the 
appointment  of  police  matrons  to  care  for  women  under  arrest  ; 
all  these  things  prove  that  temperance  women  have  never  been 
indifferent  to  this  branch  of  work. 

But,  after  all,  it  was  the  moral  cyclone  that  attended  the 
Pall  Mall  Gazette  disclosures,  which  cleared  the  air  and  broke  the 
spell,  so  that  silence  now  seems  criminal  and  we  only  wonder  that 
we  did  not  .speak  before. 

Some  sporadic  efforts  had  been  made  in  this  direction  from 
time  to  time,  but  the  action  of  our  Philadelphia  Convention  in 
1885  launched  the  new  life-boat  nationally,  and  because  no  other 
woman  could  be  found  to  stand  at  its  helm  I  have  tried  to  do  so, 
though  utterly  unable  to  give  to  this  great  work  an  attention 
more  than  fragmentary.  My  faithful  office  secretary,  Alice 
Briggs,  has  really  been  the  main  spoke  in  the  wheel  at  my  home 
office,  and  Dr.  Kate  Bushnell,  in  the  field,  for  I  have  only  spoken 
in  large  cities,  and  the  heroic  doctor  is  going  everywhere  and 
has  made  such  a  reconnoissance  of  the  North  Woods  lumber  cen¬ 
ters  as  ought  to  place  her  name  among  the  Grace  Darlings  of 
moral  rescue  work.  Mrs.  Dr.  Kellogg  has  developed  the  Mothers’ 
meetings  into  a  potent  factor  of  the  department,  and  Hope  Led- 
yard  (Mrs.  C.  H.  Harris)  has  taken  up  this  specialty  at  our 
request. 

My  own  ‘  ‘  call  ’  ’  is  hinted  at  in  these  words  from  my  annual 
address,  only  a  few  weeks  after  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  disclosures. 

How  hard  men  work  for  votes  !  They  do  not  assemble  the  faithful  by 
general  bell-ringing  and  let  that  end  it.  Nay,  verily  !  They  obey  the  Gos¬ 
pel  injunction  :  Go  out  into  the  highways  and  hedges,  and  compel  them 

to  come  in.”  Carriages  are  running  all  day  between  the  voters  and  the  polls, 
no  matter  how  hard  it  is  to  bring  the  two  together.  Thus  must  we  go  out  to 
seek  and  save  the  lost ;  as  eager  for  our  Master’s  triumph  in  the  individual 
soul,  as  politicians  are  for  the  election  of  their  candidates. 

This  work  can  not  be  done  by  proxy  nor  at  arms-length.  We  ought  to 
have  always,  in  every  local  union,  an  active  committee  of  visitation  to  the 
homes  of  those  who  drink.  I  beg  you  to  do  this,  though  you  do  noth¬ 
ing  else.  Go  into  homes  and  saloons,  inviting  lost  men  to  come  to  Christ. 
We  must  £7? ;  we  can  not  send.  As  an  earnest-hearted  minister  recently  said 


420 


“  Salvation  by  Tongs  is  a  Failure 


in  my  hearing:  “Salvation  by  tongs  is  a  failure.”  The  grip  of  our  own 
hands  can  alone  convey  the  unbeliever’s  hand  to  the  firm  and  tender  clasp 
of  the  Hand  once  pierced  for  us  and  him. 

The  Bishop  of  Durham  founded  the  White  Cross  League.  Its  pledge 
predicts  the  time  when  fatherhood  shall  take  its  place  beside  motherhood, 
its  divine  correlate,  as  equal  sharer  in  the  cares  that  have  so  ennobled  women 
as  to  make  some  of  them  akin  to  angels.  Its  blessed  pledge  declares  :  “I 
will  maintain  the  law  of  purity  as  equally  binding  upon  men  and  women  ; 
I  will  endeavor  to  spread  these  principles  among  my  companions,  and  try 
to  help  my  younger  brothers,  and  will  use  every  means  to  fulfill  the  sacred 
command,  ‘ Keep  thyself  pure.  ’  ” 

Those  noble  men,  Anthony  Comstock,  of  the  New  York  Society  for  the 
Suppression  of  Vice,  and  Rev.  Dr.  De  Costa,  of  the  White  Cross  League, 
will  address  our  convention.  Their  work  relates  to  the  overthrow  of  those 
Satanic  means  by  which  the  theory  and  practice  of  abominable  crimes 
against  social  purity  are  carried  on  in  our  great  cities,  and  from  thence 
spread  their  leprous  taint  to  every  towTn  and  village. 

Our  Department  for  Suppression  of  the  Social  Evil  is  as  yet  inoperative. 
It  is  greatly  to  be  regretted  that  we  do  not  yet  succeed  in  winning  the  serv¬ 
ices,  as  superintendent  of  this  most  difficult  work,  of  a  lady  who  combines 
the  rare  qualities  of  a  delicate  perception  of  propriety  with  practical  ability 
and  leisure.  The  special  aim  of  this  new  superintendency  will  be  to  trace 
the  relation  between  the  drink  habit  and  the  nameless  practices,  outrages 
and  crimes  which  disgrace  so-called  modern  “civilization  ”  ;  especially  the 
brutalizing  influence  of  malt  liquors  upon  the  sexual  nature.  Besides  this 
we  should  emulate  the  example  set  us  by  Mrs.  Stevens,  of  Maine,  and  her 
clear-headed  associates,  in  providing  a  temporary  home  for  the  women  whom 
our  police  matrons  rescue  from  the  clutch  of  penalties  whose  usual  accom¬ 
paniments  often  render  them  still  more  familiar  with  sin.  But  the  effect 
upon  our  minds  of  such  unspeakable  disclosures  as  those  of  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette ,  and  the  horrible  assurances  given  us  by  such  authority  as  Dr. 
Elizabeth  Blackwell,  that  we  should  uncap  perdition  in  the  same  direction, 
were  the  hidden  life  of  our  own  great  cities  known,  has  so  stirred  the 
heart  of  womanhood  throughout  this  land,  that  we  are,  I  trust,  ready  for  an 
advance.  Had  we  to-day  the  right  woman  in  this  place  of  unequaled  need 
and  opportunity,  we  could  be  instrumental  in  the  passage  of  such  laws  as 
would  punish  the  outrage  of  defenseless  girls  and  women  by  making  the 
repetition  of  such  outrage  an  impossibility.  Woman  only  can  induce  law¬ 
makers  to  furnish  this  most  availing  of  all  possible  methods  of  protection 
to  the  physically  weak.  Men  alone  will  never  gain  the  courage  thus  to  leg¬ 
islate  against  other  men.  Crimes  against  women  seem  to  be  upon  the  in¬ 
crease  everywhere.  Three  years  ago  the  Chicago  Inter  Ocean  gathered  from 
the  press  in  three  weeks  forty  cases  of  the  direst  outrage,  sixteen  of  the 
victims  being  girls.  In  a  majority  of  cases,  where  the  gentler  sex  is  thus 
hunted  to  its  ruin,  or  lured  to  the  same  pit  in  a  more  gradual  way,  strong 
drink  is  the  devil’s  kindling-wood  of  passion,  as  everybody  knows.  Hence 
the  relation  of  this  most  sacred  work  to  that  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  is  so  close 


Conventional  Cowardice. 


421 


that  the  press,  through  some  of  its  noblest  representatives  has,  in  the  last 
year,  appealed  to  us  to  ignore  the  tempted  and  the  fallen  of  our  own  sex  no 
longer.  It  is  not  by  the  vain  attempt  to  re-introduce  the  exploded  harem 
method  of  secluding  women  that  they  are  to  be  saved.  It  is  rather  by 
holding  men  to  the  same  standard  of  morality  which,  happily  for  us,  they 
long  ago  prescribed  for  the  physically  weaker,  that  society  shall  rise  to 
higher  levels,  and  by  punishing  with  extreme  penalties  such  men  as  inflict 
upon  women  atrocities  compared  with  which  death  would  be  infinitely  wel¬ 
come.  When  we  remember  the  unavenged  murder  of  Jennie  Cramer,  of 
New  Haven,  and  the  acquittal  of  the  ravishers  of  Emma  Bond,  a  cultivated 
school  teacher  in  Illinois ;  when  we  reflect  that  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  de¬ 
clares  “  the  law  is  framed  to  enable  dissolute  men  to  outrage  girls  of  thirteen 
with  impunity  that  in  Massachusetts  and  Vermont  it  is  a  greater  crime  to 
steal  a  cow  than  to  abduct  and  ruin  a  girl,  and  that  in  Illinois  seduction  is 
not  recognized  as  a  crime,  it  is  a  marvel  not  to  be  explained,  that  we  go  on 
the  even  tenor  of  our  way,  too  delicate,  too  refined,  too  prudish  to  make 
any  allusion  to  these  awful  facts,  much  less  to  take  up  arms  against  these 
awful  crimes. 

We  have  been  the  victhns  of  conventional  cowardice  too  long.  Let  us 
signalize  the  second  century  of  temperance  reform  by  a  fearless  avowal  of 
our  purpose  to  take  up  the  work  of  promoting  social  purity  by  the  inculca¬ 
tion  of  right  principles  and  the  serious  demand  for  more  equitable  laws. 
The  Society  of  the  White  Cross  will  warmly  cooperate  with  our  endeavors 
in  this  righteous  cause.  Oh,  may  some  clear  brain,  true  heart  and  winsome 
spirit  in  our  great  fraternity  cry  out  under  the  baptism  of  the  Heavenly 
Spirit,  “  Here  am  /,  Lord ,  send  me  !  ” 

These  are  the  first  words  I  ever  publicly  uttered  on  a  subject 
that  had  been  farther  from  my  thoughts  than  I  like  to  acknowl¬ 
edge,  all  my  life  long.  When  I  was  first  a  boarding-school  pupil, 
at  Evanston,  in  1858,  a  young  woman  who  was  not  chaste  came 
to  the  college  through  some  misrepresentation,  but  was  speedily 
dismissed  ;  not  knowing  her  degraded  status  I  was  speaking  to 
her,  when  a  school-mate  whispered  a  few  words  of  explanation 
that  crimsoned  my  face  suddenly  ;  and  grasping  my  dress  lest  its 
hem  should  touch  the  garments  of  one  so  morally  polluted,  I  fled 
from  the  room.  It  was,  no  doubt,  a  healthful  instinct  that  led 
me  to  do  this,  but  I  am  deeply  grateful  that  the  years  have  so 
instructed  and  mellowed  my  heart,  that,  could  the  scene  recur,  I 
would  clasp  that  poor  child’s  hand,  plead  with  her  tenderly  and 
tty  to  help  instead  of  deserting  her  as  I  did  in  my  more  self- 
righteous  youth. 

The  next  time  this  subject  was  thrust  upon  me  is  described 
in  my  first  address  after  becoming  superintendent  of  the  depart- 


422 


White  Slaves  in  Paris. 


ment.  It  was  given  to  an  audience  of  women  at  the  twelfth 
annual  meeting  of  the  Chicago  W.  C.  T.  U.,  in  1886  : 

In  the  year  1869,  while  studying  in  Paris,  I  used  often  to  see  passing 
along  the  pleasant  streets,  great  closed  wagons,  covered  with  black.  In¬ 
quiring  of  my  elegant  landlady  the  explanation  of  these  somber  vehicles, 
she  answered,  sorrowfully,  “It  is  the  demi-monde,  who  go  to  be  ex¬ 
amined.”  I  then  learned  for  the  first  time  that  in  Paris,  fallen  women  have 
a  legal  “permit”  to  carry  on  what  is  a  recognized  business,  but  must  remain 
secluded  in  their  houses  at  certain  hours,  must  avoid  certain  streets,  and 
must  go  once  a  week,  under  escort  of  the  police,  to  the  dispensary  for  ex¬ 
amination  and  certificate  that  they  are  exempt  from  contagious  disease. 
Always,  after  that,  those  awful  wagons  seemed  to  me  to  form  the  most 
heart-breaking  funeral  procession  that  ever  Christian  woman  watched  with 
aching  heart  and  tear-dimmed  eyes.  If  I  were  asked  why  there  has  come 
about  such  a  revolution  in  public  thought  that  I  have  gained  the  courage  to 
speak  of  things  once  unlawful  to  be  told,  and  you  may  listen  without  fear  of 
criticism  from  any  save  the  base,  my  answer  would  be  : 

“  Because  lawr-makers  tried  to  import  the  black  wagon  of  Paris  to  Eng¬ 
land  and  America,  and  Anglo-Saxon  women  rose  in  swift  rebellion.’’ 

Even  a  worm  will  turn  at  last,  and  when  her  degradation  wTas  thus  de¬ 
liberately  planned  and  sanctioned  by  the  state,  on  the  basis  of  securing  to 
the  stronger  partner  in  a  dual  sin  the  same  protection  from  nature’s  penalty 
which  society  had  granted  him  so  long,  and  of  heaping  upon  the  weaker 
partner  in  that  sin  all  the  disgrace  and  shame,  then  womanhood’s  loyalty  to 
woman  was  aroused  ;  it  overcame  the  silence  and  reserve  of  centuries,  and 
Christendom  rings  with  her  protest  to-day. 

Thus  do  the  powers  of  darkness  outwit  themselves,  and  evils  ever¬ 
more  tend  to  their  own  cure.  It  is  now  solemnly  avowed  by  thousands  of 
the  best  and  most  capable  women  who  speak  the  English  tongue,  not  only 
that  the  contagious  diseases  acts  shall  never  be  tolerated  upon  a  single  inch 
of  British  or  American  soil,  but  that  houses  of  ill-fame  shall  be  not  only 
prohibited  but  banished  altogether.  The  system  of  license  must  not  come. 
The  let-alone  policy  must  go.  The  prohibitory  method  must  be  achieved. 

Having  determined  on  a  great  petition  to  Congress,  asking  for 
the  better  protection  of  women  and  girls  through  severer  penalties 
for  assaults  upon  them,  and  that  the  age  of  protection  might  be 
raised  to  eighteen  years,  I  went  in  company  with  my  dear  friend, 
Mrs.  Hannah  Whitall  Smith,  of  Philadelphia,  whose  guest  I  was 
at  the  time,  to  see  Mr.  Powderly,  chief  of  the  Knights  of  Labor, 
at  their  headquarters  in  the  same  city.  A  score  of  clerks  were 
busy  in  the  office  below,  and  I  was  told  that  it  was  difficult  to  get  • 
access  to  Mr.  Powderly,  delegations  often  waiting  for  hours  to  take 
their  turn.  But  Mrs.  Bryant,  editor  of  the  journal  of  the  Knights 


Terence  V.  Powderly. 


423 


of  Labor  and  a  white  ribbon  woman,  used  her  influence  for  us, 
and  the  detention  was  brief.  Mr.  Powderly  came  into  her  office 
from  the  inner  room,  where  he  sits  from  morning  till  night  in 
counsel  with  six  other  men,  I  think,  who,  with  himself,  form  the 
executive  of  this  great  organization.  I  saw  a  man  of  something 
more  than  medium  height,  broad-shouldered  but  of  not  specially 
robust  physique,  with  a  noble  head,  full,  arching  and  slightly 
bald  ;  the  brow  particularly  handsome,  also  the  clear-cut  profile 
and  magisterial  nose  ;  the  eyes  weary-looking  but  most  intelli¬ 
gent  and  kindly,  protected  by  light-bowed  spectacles  ;  the  mouth, 
as  I  should  judge,  fine,  but  almost  concealed  by  a  military  mus¬ 
tache.  In  the  fewest  possible  words  I  told  him  my  errand.  He 
said,  ‘  ‘  Please  show  me  your  petition.  ’  ’  Glancing  at  it  a  moment, 
he  added,  “Excuse  me,  I  will  consult  my  brothers”  ;  he  was 
gone  perhaps  three  minutes,  and  returning,  said,  “If  you  will 
send  me  ninety-two  thousand  copies,  they  shall  go  out  to  every 
local  assembly  of  the  Knights  of  Labor  without  expense  to  you 
and  with  the  recommendation  that  they  be  signed,  circulated  and 
returned  to  you  at  Evanston.”  I  rose,  reaching  out  my  hand,  and 
said,  “Brother  Powderly,  you  are  a  Catholic,  and  I  am  a  Meth¬ 
odist  sister,  but  I  have  sincere  respect  and  high  regard  for  you 
and  I  shall  pray  Heaven  every  day  to  bless  you  and  your  work.” 
There  was,  perhaps,  a  little  tremor  in  my  voice  as  I  said  this,  and 
the  faintest  token  of  the  same  in  his  as  he  replied,  warmly  grasp¬ 
ing  my  hand,  “I  thank  you,  friend  and  sister.  Good-by.”  I 
had  asked  him  for  his  photograph,  which  he  soon  sent  me,  and 
it  has  stood  on  my  desk  ever  since  with  those  of  Elizabeth  Fry, 
Josephine  Butler,  Mrs.  Cleveland  and  Pundita  Ramabai.  I  know 
that  Mr.  Powderly  is  a  thorough  total  abstainer,  that  he  never 
uses  tobacco  and  can  not  tolerate  any  symptom  of  it  in  his  pres¬ 
ence,  that  he  is  a  man  mighty  in  deeds  as  in  words,  having,  as  I 
believe,  a  single  eye  to  the  best  interests  of  the  working-classes, 
and  the  purpose  to  advance  them  only  by  the  noblest  methods, 
namely,  education,  cooperation,  arbitration  and  the  ballot-box. 
Repeatedly  we  have  sent  our  delegates  to  the  annual  meeting 
of  the  Knights  of  Labor.  Mrs.  H.  A.  Hobart,  president  of  the 
Minnesota  W.  C.  T.  U.,  spoke  for  us  when  the  convention  was 
held  in  Minneapolis  ;  Mrs.  Henrietta  Monroe,  president  of  the 
Ohio  W.  C.  T.  U.,  in  Cincinnati,  and  in  1888,  Mrs.  Josephine  R. 


424 


The  Great  Petition. 


Nichols,  president  of  the  Indiana  W.  C.  T.  U.,  in  Indianapolis. 
Our  representatives  have  always  been  most  cordially  received,  and 
as  Mrs.  Nichols  was  on  the  platform  after  her  speech,  Mr.  Pow- 
derly  came  forward,  taking  her  hand,  and  saying,  “  The  Knights 
of  Tabor  pledge  themselves  to  stand  by  the  W.  C.  T.  U.,”  while 
applause,  loud  and  hearty,  rang  out  through  the  assembly. 

When  the  petition  for  the  protection  of  women  came  wing¬ 
ing  its  way  back  to  Rest  Cottage  from  every  quarter  of  the  nation, 
no  copies  were  quite  so  welcome  as  those  soiled  by  the  hardy 
hands  of  toil,  largely  signed  in  pencil,  sometimes  with  the  sign 
of  the  cross,  and  showing  the  devotion  that  binds  lowly  to  lofty 
homes  for  the  protection  of  those  they  hold  most  dear. 

In  the  winter  of  1888  our  great  petition  was  presented  at  the 
Capitol  by  Senator  Blair,  Mrs.  Ada  Bittenbender,  our  legal 
adviser,  making  all  the  arrangements,  and  the  Senate  giving 
respectful  heed  to  the  words  of  our  illustrious  champion  as  he 
read  the  petition  and  urged  that  action  upon  it  be  not  delayed. 
A  bill  passed  the  Senate  raising  the  age  of  protection  to  sixteen 
years,  and  it  is  pending  in  the  House. 

The  petition,  well  known  throughout  the  country,  having 
been  presented  to  almost  every  state  and  territorial  legislature, 
reads  as  follows : 

PETITION 

OF  THE 

WOMAN’S  CHRISTIAN  TEMPERANCE  UNION 

FOR  FURTHER  PROVISION  FOR  THE 

Protection  of  Women  and  Children. 

To  the  Honorable ,  the  Senate  and  House  of  Representatives  of  the  State  of— 

The  increasing  and  alarming  frequency  of  assaults  upon  women,  the 
frightful  indignities  to  which  even  little  girls  are  subject,  and  the  corrupt¬ 
ing  of  boys,  have  become  the  shame  of  our  boasted  civilization. 

We  believe  that  the  statutes  of - do  not  meet  the  demands  of  that 

newly  awakened  public  sentiment  which  requires  better  legal  protection 
for  womanhood  and  childhood  ; 

Therefore  we,  the  undersigned  citizens  of - ,  County  of- - ,  and 

State  of - ,  pray  you  to  enact  further  provision  for  the  protection  of 

women  and  children.  And  we  call  attention  to  the  disgraceful  fact  that 
protection  of  the  person  is  not  placed  by  our  laws  upon  so  high  a  plane  as 
protection  of  the  purse. 


Betrayer  and  Betrayed. 


425 


The  first  time  the  thought  ever  came  to  me  that  a  man  could 
be  untrue  to  a  woman  was  when  on  entering  my  teens  I  read  a 
story  in  the  Advocate  of  Moral  Reform,  entitled,  “  The  Betrayer 
and  the  Betrayed.”  It  haunted  me  more  than  any  story  in  all 
my  youth,  except  “Uncle  Tom’s  Cabin.”  It  was  brief  but  it 
was  tragic,  and  the  lovely  young  girl  was  left  at  the  close  in  a 
madhouse,  while  of  the  man,  I  remember  this  sentence,  “I  see 
him  often,  passing  to  and  fro  in  his  elegant  carriage.  Beside  him 
sits  his  wedded  wife,  around  him  are  his  happy  children,  and  he 
is  a  candidate  for  the  state  legislature.  ”  As  I  used  to  think  over 
the  situation  there  came  a  deep,  honest  purpose  in  my  inmost 
spirit  always  to  stand  by  women  in  every  circumstance.  I  was 
thirty  years  of  age  before  I  had  the  opportunity.  I  then  found 
that  a  Swede  girl,  Bertha  by  name,  who  had  served  us  several 
years,  who  seemed  to  be  an  earnest  Christian,  to  whom  we  were 
all  attached,  was  very  sorrowful  and  strange.  Erelong,  she  told 
us  that  a  handsome  young  SwTede  who  was  then  a  student  in  our 
Theological  Seminary  and  highly  thought  of,  who  had  been  her 
boyish  lover  and  for  whose  sake  she  had  come  to  this  country,  had 
betrayed  her,  and  in  my  own  house,  too.  Instead  of  driving  her 
from  our  door,  I  sent  for  this  young  man,  talked  the  whole  matter 
over  with  him,  and  urged  him  to  allow  me  that  very  evening  to 
send  for  a  justice  of  the  peace  and  put  a  legal  stamp  upon  what 
was  already  true.  I  told  him  he  might  then  go  his  way,  if  he 
desired  to  do  so,  and  we  would  keep  Bertha.  But  he  stoutly 
declined  to  do  anything  of  the  sort.  Whereupon  I  walked  over 
to  the  home  of  the  President  of  Garrett  Biblical  Institute,  my 
good  friend,  Dr.  Bannister,  and  told  him  the  situation.  A  faculty 
meeting  was  held  the  next  morning,  and  by  noon  the  young  man 
had  been  ousted,  under  ban  of  professors  and  students,  and  went 
his  lonely  way  to  the  depot,  nothing  having  been  heard  of  him 
since.  We  kept  Bertha,  and  she  was  a  few  years  later  happily 
married  to  an  honorable  countryman  of  hers.  “  He  is  thrice 
armed  who  hath  his  quarrel  just.” 

When  the  great  International  Council  of  Women  was  held 
in  Washington,  D.  C.,  in  1888,  at  the  women’s  meeting  to  discuss 
Social  Purity  work,  it  fell  to  my  lot  to  speak  as  follows  : 

Now,  in  closing  this  magnificent  meeting,  a  poor  little  Protestant  nun 
comes  before  you,  and  feels  that  she  hasn’t  much  right  to  talk  to  you  ;  feels 


426 


Men' s  Self-respect  vs.  Women' s. 


that  the  high  and  solemn  mysteries  that  have  been  spoken  of  in  such  varied 
tone  and  manner  to-day,  are  those  that  she  ought  not  to  try  to  deal  with; 
feels  more  than  ever  the  inadequacy  of  one  whose  life  has  been  set  apart 
from  the  sacred  tie  of  home,  to  utter  her  thought  on  themes  like  these. 
While  the  ladies  have  spoken  so  bravely  or  so  tenderly,  on  this  historic 
morning,  my  thoughts  have  been  at  work.  I  have  seemed  to  see  those  two 
who  went  forth  hand  in  hand  from  Eden  on  the  saddest  of  all  mornings, 
after  the  fall,  and  I  have  said  to  myself  many  times,  “Oh,  if  those  close 
clasped  hands  had  never  parted  company,  our  poor  world  had  been  to-day  the 
place  God  wants  to  see  it,  and  the  place  Christ  came  to  make  it.”  I  have 
said  to  myself  many  times,  “  Would  that  the  other  half  the  audience  were 
here  !  ’’  This  is  only  half  the  circle  ;  we  ought  to  have  had  it  builded  out 
into  completeness.  So  I  have  only  to  offer  you  the  thought,  that  every 
objection  brought  forward  here  to-day,  every  philosophical  statement  made, 
is  based  upon  the  fact  that  out  of  the  aggregation  of  men  by  themselves 
always  comes  harm  ;  out  of  the  coming  of  men  and  women  both  into  true, 
and  noble,  and  high  conditions,  side  by  side,  always  comes  good.  Where  is 
it  that  you  have  this  curse  most  deeply  rooted  and  most  apologized  for  by 
men?  In  the  camps  of  the  soldiery.  What  would  woman’s  coming  forward 
in  government  tend  to  bring  about?  The  reign  of  peace.  The  mother 
heart  that  can  not  be  legislated  in  and  can  not  be  legislated  out  would  say  : 
“I  will  not  give  my  sons  to  be  butchered  in  great  battles,”  and  we  would 
have  international  arbitration. 

My  noble  friend,  Mrs.  Hoffman,  who  spoke  so  bravely,  said:  “Until 
woman  has  complete  industrial  freedom,  until  woman  has  the  purse  jointly  in 
her  hand,  marriage  will  never  be  the  thing  we  want  to  see  it.”  This  blessed 
change  is  involved  in  all  the  magnificent  enterprises  represented  by  the 
women  who  stand  on  this  platform,  while  doubtless  you  who  are  in  the  audi¬ 
ence  are  true  to  this  emancipation  in  your  own  circles.  So  that  my  heart  is 
full  of  hope,  and,  out  of  the  long  savagery  and  darkness  and  crime,  I  see 
humanity  coming  up  into  the  brightness  and  beauty  of  a  new  civilization.  I 
see  the  noblest  men  of  the  world’s  foremost  race,  the  Anglo-Saxons,  wrho 
made  this  audience  possible,  the  men  who  have  worked  side  by  side  with 
us,  to  bring  about  these  great  conditions,  placing  upon  woman’s  brow  above 
the  wreath  of  Venus  the  helmet  of  Minerva  and  leading  forward  the  fair 
divinities  who  preside  over  their  homes  to  help  them  make  a  new  and  nobler 
government. 

There  is  nothing  on  this  earth  that  I  tried  more  earnestly  to  instill  into 
my  girls’  hearts,  when  I  was  teaching,  than  a  genuine  womanly  self-respect. 
I  doubt  if  we  have  this  ourselves  as  the  women  of  the  future  will.  Why,  I 
pass  signs  on  the  street,  I  pass  pictures  of  women  in  the  cigar-stores  and 
saloons,  that,  if  we  were  as  self-respectful  as  we  ought  to  be,  could  n’t  stay 
there  over  night ;  I  see  fair  women  in  beautiful  robes  walking  on  the 
streets,  or  hear  of  them  in  fine  social  surroundings,  with  a  man  at  their  side 
puffing  tobacco  smoke  into  their  faces  and  eyes,  and  I  say  that  is  a  survival 
of  past  savagery  and  debasement  and  of  the  immolation  of  women.  If 
there  is  anything  on  earth  I  covet  that  pertains  to  men  it  is  their  self-respect. 


Man  is  King  and  Woman  Courtier. 


427 


No  man  would  be  seen  with  a  woman  with  the  faintest  taint  or  tinge  of 
tobacco  about  her  ;  no  man  would  allow  himself  to  enter  into  marriage  with 
a  woman  of  known  habits  of  drinking  or  impurity  ;  it  is  n’t  thinkable. 
When  I  see  women  coming  out  before  men,  or  when  I  know  they  do — I  do 
not  see  them,  they  are  not  women  with  whom  I  am  socially  acquainted — 
revealing  the  sacredness  of  the  pure  symbol  and  badge  of  their  w’omanly 
nature,  coming  out  dressed  so  improperly  that  the  joke,  the  jest,  and  jibe, 
are  uttered  in  the  dressing-room  where  young  men  smoke  cigars  and  hobnob 
together,  I  could  weep  my  life  out  that  a  woman  thus  appears,  borrowing 
that  style  from  women  the  hem  of  whose  garments  she  would  be  ashamed 
to  touch.  Let  us  have  self-respect.  Let  us  be  clothed  with  the  raiment  of 
purity  that  ought  to  guard  the  virgin,  the  mother  and  the  wife. 

When  we  assemble  socially  and  allow  scenes  to  be  put  before  us  that  are 
indecorous  and  shameful,  we  have  passed  away  from  the  purity  and  self- 
respect  that  must  and  shall  characterize  the  women  of  the  future.  Oh, 
friends,  these  things  are  deep  in  every  thoughtful  woman’s  heart !  Girls 
come  and  ask  me,  “Would  you  dance  round  dances?’’  Dear  little  sistgr, 
no  ;  don’t  dance  a  round  dance.  The  women  of  the  future  will  not  do  it. 
I  walked  the  aisles  of  the  picture  galleries  of  Europe.  I  saw  the  men  in 
those  great  historic  paintings,  with  their  ear-rings,  and  their  fingers  covered 
with  rings,  their  necks  bedecked  with  ruffles,  their  forms  dressed  in  all  the 
hues  that  the  peacock  and  rainbow  could  supply.  They  were  nothing  but 
an  exhibition  of  sycophants,  a  collection  of  courtiers.  That  was  the  time 
when  King  Louis  XIV.  said  :  “The  state,  it  is  I !  ” 

Woman  is  courtier  and  man  is  king  to-day,  in  the  sacred  realm  of  gov¬ 
ernment.  But  when  a  woman  shall  be  able  to  say  to  the  state,  “  I  am  part 
of  you,  just  as  much  as  anything  that  breathes  ”  ;  when  she  shall  say,  “  lam 
part  of  society  ;  I  am  part  of  industrial  values,  I  am  part  of  everything  that 
a  man  values  ;  everything  that  a  man’s  brain  loves  to  think  about  in  philos¬ 
ophy,  in  philanthropy,  in  history,  or  science,’’  then  the  calm  equipoise  of 
human  forces  shall  come  ;  and  for  that  I  would  like  to  live  ;  for  that  I  would 
like  to  speak.  Persons  who  know  more  about  it  than  I,  tell  me  that  women 
who  give  their  lives  to  shame,  women  who  are  on  the  street-corners  with 
their  invitations  at  night,  are  women  who  have,  from  the  very  look  of  the 
face  and  configuration  of  the  head,  the  symbols  and  emblems  of  no  self- 
respect.  The  superior,  queenly  woman  is  the  one  who  has  most  self-respect, 
who  sees  its  application  to  everything  around  her,  and  who  makes  every  man 
feel  that  he  would  as  soon  die  as  offer  her  an  insult. 

The  Arabs  love  to  say  of  a  pure  man  that  he  is  “a  brother  of  girls.” 
The  brotherly  man  will  come  forward  to  meet  and  respond  to  the  sisterly 
Woman.  When  we  are  not  toys,  when  we  are  not  dolls,  when  we  stand 
before  them  royal,  crowned  with  heart  of  love  and  brain  of  fire,  then  shall 
come  the  new  day.  I  ignore  nothing  that  has  been  said.  I  am  in  hearty 
sympathy  with  all.  But,  in  my  own  thought,  this  is  the  key-note  that  must 
be  struck.  God  grant  that  we  may  be  so  loving  and  so  gentle  in  it  all,  that 
there  shall  be  no  vanity,  no  pride.  Evermore  the  grandest  natures  are  the 
humblest. 


428 


Mrs.  Laura  Ormiston  Chant. 


Let  me  speak  a  word  of  hope.  I  have  heard  this  statement  from  a 
woman  who  has  just  come  from  Germany,  a  woman  for  years  a  student  in  the 
universities.  She  says  the  professors’  wives  tell  her  that  the  new  science  has 
developed  this  thought,  and  that  professors  are  saying  to  their  young  men : 
“  If  you  want  a  scintillating  brain,  if  you  want  magnificent  power  of  imag¬ 
ination,  conserve  every  force,  be  as  chaste  as  your  sister  is,  and  put  your 
power  into  the  brain  that  throbs  on  like  an  untired  engine.”  I  do  not  know 
how  you  feel,  but  I  want  to  take  by  the  hand  this  woman  who  has  spoken 
so  nobly  to  us,  this  sweet-faced  and  sweet-voiced  English  woman,  Mrs.  Laura 
Ormiston  Chant,  who,  last  night  when  all  of  us  were  asleep,  went  out  into 
the  holiness  of  moonlight  and  saw  that  our  capital  was  not  so  bad  as  Lon¬ 
don  ;  this  woman  who  went  to  see  the  little  girl  that  had  n’t  been  taught  and 
had  n’t  been  helped,  and  who  came  from  her  country  home  and  was  getting 
entangled  in  the  meshes  of  this  great  Babylon.  God  bless  you,  Mrs.  Chant, 
you  are  welcome  to  America.  I  thought,  while  you  were  speaking,  of  what 
our  Whittier  said  of  our  two  countries  :  “Unknown  to  other  rivalries  than 
of  the  mild  humanities  and  gracious  interchange  of  good.” 

We  women  are  clasping  hands.  We  do  not  know  how  much  it  means. 
I  have  sought  this  woman  from  over  the  water.  I  wanted  her  to  come  here 
with  her  large  experience  in  work.  I  have  not  seen  so  many  sorrowful 
girls  as  she  has,  and  don’t  know  how  to  reach  them,  only  in  a  general  way  ; 
and  I  have  asked  her  if  she  will  stay  and  teach  us,  and  she  says  she  will. 
Are  you  not  glad  ?  So  understand  that  the  National  Woman’s  Christian 
Temperance  Union  is  going  to  keep  Mrs.  Chant  here  and  send  her  about 
with  her  sw'eet  evangelism.  Now  I  think,  dear  friends,  that  wTe  have  cer¬ 
tainly  this  morning  boxed  the  compass  of  the  woman  movement,  for  we 
have  talked  purely  and  sacredly  together  of  the  White  Cross  and  the 
White  Shield. 

No  department  of  work  was  ever  developed  so  rapidly  as  this. 
The  women’s  hearts  were  ready  for  it.  White  Cross  and  White 
Shield  pledges  and  literature,  leaflets  for  mothers’  meetings,  in¬ 
deed,  for  every  phase  of  the  Social  Purity  work,  are  ordered  in 
constantly  increasing  numbers.  The  White  Shield  work  is  espe¬ 
cially  for  women.  Industrial  homes  for  women  are  being  founded 
by  the  state  in  response  to  our  petitions,  and  a  movement  is  now 
on  foot  to  establish  homes  for  adults  who  are  physically,  mentally 
or  morally  incapable,  by  reason  of  irremediable  defects.  We  be¬ 
lieve  that  the  harm  this  large  class  (including  hereditary  drunk¬ 
ards)  does  to  society  makes  it  an  unquestionable  economy  to 
detain  them  in  institutions  for  the  purpose,  and  render  them  self- 
supporting.  ‘  ‘  Do  thyself  no  harm  ’  ’  would  then  be  a  motto  alike 
applicable  to  these  unfortunates  and  to  the  state. 

It  is  hoped  that  this  cause  will  be  presented  carefully  and 


“  In  the  Beauty  of  the  Lilies .  ” 


429 


wisely  to  all  bodies  of  Christian,  educational,  and  philanthropic 
workers  in  every  part  of  the  land.  This  will  best  be  done  under 
the  auspices  of  the  state  or  local  superintendent  of  the  depart¬ 
ment  in  person  or  by  letter  ;  or  often,  better  still,  by  some  dele¬ 
gate  who  has  a  right  to  the  floor  and  will  present  and  support  a 
suitable  resolution  of  sympathy  and  cooperation. 

White  Cross  work  contemplates  a  direct  appeal  to  the  chivalry 
of  men  :  that  they  shall  join  this  holy  crusade  by  a  personal  pledge 
of  purity  and  helpfulness  :  that  boys  shall  early  learn  the  sacred 
meaning  of  the  White  Cross  and  that  the  generous  knights  of  this 
newest  and  most  noble  chivalry  shall  lead  Humanity’s  sweet 
and  solemn  song. 

“  In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies 

Christ  was  born  across  the  sea, 

With  a  glory  in  His  bosom 
That  transfigures  you  and  me. 

As  He  died  to  make  men  holy, 

Let  us  live  to  make  men  free, 

While  God  is  marching  on.” 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE  WORLD’S  W.  C.  T.  U. 

I 

White  light  includes  all  the  prismatic  colors,  so  the  white 
ribbon  stands  for  all  phases  of  reform,  and  there  is  no  phase 
which  the  drink  curse  has  not  rendered  necessary.  Our  emblem 
holds  within  itself  the  colors  of  all  nations  and  stands  for  universal 
purity  and  patriotism,  universal  prohibition  and  philanthropy, 
and  universal  peace.  For  ‘  ‘  hearts  are  near,  though  hands  are 
far,”  and  women’s  hands  and  hearts  all  round  the  world  will  be 
united  by  our  snowy  badge  ere  another  generation  passes  out  of 
sight.  There  is  now  no  speech  or  language  where  its  voice  is 
not  heard. 

One  secret  of  the  success  that  has  from  the  first  attended  our 
great  society,  is  that  it  always  goes  on  “  lengthening  its  cords 
and  strengthening  its  stakes.” 

When  I  was  organizing  on  the  Pacific  Coast  in  1883,  I  saw 
the  opium  curse  in  San  Francisco  alongside  the  alcoholic  curse, 
introduced  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  into  British  Columbia,  was  urged  to 
visit  the  Sandwich  Islands,  go  to  Japan  and  China,  and  was  so 
impressed  by  the  outreaching  of  other  nations  toward  our  society 
and  their  need  of  us,  that  I  proposed  in  my  annual  address  at 
Detroit,  ‘  ‘  the  appointment  of  a  commission  to  report  the  next 
year  plans  for  the  organization  of  a  World’s  W.  C.  T.  U.”  This 
was  done,  and  the  general  officers  of  our  national  society  have 
from  that  time  to  the  present  been  leaders  in  this  enterprise. 
We  proceeded  at  once  to  send  out  Mrs.  Maty  Clement  Leavitt, 
who  started  a  work  in  the  Sandwich  Islands  which  promises  to 
revolutionize  sentiment,  and  make  that  country  in  favor  of  our 
principles  and  methods.  Mrs.  Dr.  Whitney,  of  Honolulu,  is 
president  of  the  white  ribbon  societies  there. 

Mrs.  Leavitt  was  supplied  with  money  for  her  voyage  to 
Australia  by  the  temperance  friends  at  the  Sandwich  Islands, 

(430) 


“  Our  White  Ribbon  Stanley 


43i 


and  left  for  New  Zealand  in  January,  1884.  She  there  traversed 
a  territory  as  great  as  from  Maine  to  Florida,  and  from  the  Alle¬ 
ghany  Mountains  to  the  sea,  forming  ten  good,  strong  unions, 
with  Mrs.  Judge  Ward,  of  Christchurch,  at  their  head.  She 
then  crossed  one  thousand  one  hundred  and  thirty  miles  of  sea 
to  reach  the  continent  of  Australia,  where  she  steadily  worked 
on  in  the  Provinces  of  Queensland,  New  South  Wales,  Victoria, 
and  Tasmania  (formerly  called  Van  Diemen’s  Land),  and  re¬ 
mained  until  the  next  autumn,  when  she  started  for  Japan. 

We  must  remember  that  Australia  is  one  half  as  large  as 
South  America,  being  about  two  thousand,  six  hundred  miles 
long,  by  two  thousand  in  width.  Like  New  Zealand,  it  is  set¬ 
tled  by  Knglish  people,  and  governed  partly  by  officers  sent  to 
represent  the  British  Crown,  partly  by  local  legislatures.  It  is  a 
strange  and  beautiful  country,  with  climate,  flora  and  fauna 
unlike  those  of  any  other  part  of  the  world.  It  seems  like  the 
best  kind  of  a  fairy  story  that  our  W.  C.  T.  U.  should  be  accli¬ 
mated  there,  for  Mrs.  Leavitt  writes,  “These  people  are  thor¬ 
ough  ;  when  they  take  the  white  ribbon,  they  take  it  to  keep 
and  to  wear." 

Perhaps  they  might  teach  us  a  lesson  in  this  silent  preaching 
of  temperance  by  the  “little  badge  of  snow.”  Mrs.  Leavitt’s 
letters  in  The  Union  Signal  have  kept  our  great  constituency 
informed  of  all  her  movements. 

I11  Japan  her  success  was  so  great  that  a  leading  missionary 
wrote  home  to  his  church  paper,  declaring  that  what  Commo¬ 
dore  Perry’s  visit  was  to  the  commerce,  Mrs.  Leavitt’s  has  been 
to  the  women  of  Japan.  She  thoroughly  established  the  W.  C. 
T.  U.  in  that  bright  morning-land  of  enthusiasm  and  hope  ; 
worked  to  the  same  end  in  the  less  fertile  soil  of  China  and  of 
India  ;  traversed  Ceylon,  which  has,  thus  far,  sent  more  names 
to  the  World’s  petition  than  any  other  country;  was  received  in 
Madagascar  with  enthusiasm,  and  has  now  plunged  into  Africa. 
She  is  our  white  ribbon  Stanley,  not  one  whit  less  persistent  and 
valorous  than  the  great  explorer.  In  one  more  year  this  intrepid 
Boston  woman  will  have  reached  the  golden  number,  seven,  in 
her  triumphal  march,  and  will,  I  trust,  receive  such  a  reception  as 
has  not  yet  been  accorded  to  a  returning  traveler — not  even  to  a 
successful  politician!  We  have  never  heard  a  criticism  on  her 


432 


Our  British  Cousins. 


conduct,  methods,  or  words,  since  she  went  forth,  empty-handed 
and  alone.  Her  world-wide  mission  has  been  largely  self-support¬ 
ing,  and  her  success  has  led  to  the  sending  out  of  Miss  J.  A. 
Ackerman,  of  California,  to  follow  the  route  so  patiently  laid 
down  for  all  future  comers.  Miss  Charlotte  Gray  has  also  vis¬ 
ited  Switzerland  and  is  now  organizing  for  us  in  Norway.  Mrs. 
Mary  B.  Willard  is  superintendent  of  our  Press  Department.  Mrs. 
Hannah  Whitall  Smith,  of  Bible  Readings  ;  Mrs.  Mary  H. 
Hunt,  of  Scientific  Temperance  ;  Mrs.  Bishop  Newman,  of  Ameri¬ 
can  Petitions  ;  Mrs.  Josephine  R.  Nichols,  of  World’s  Exposi¬ 
tions.  Mrs.  Nichols  was  brilliantly  successful  in  representing  us 
at  the  New  Orleans  Expositions,  hence  her  embassy  to  Paris  in 
the  spring  of  1889  is  full  of  promise  for  our  cause. 

But  the  two  most  powerful  auxiliaries  of  the  World’s  W.  C. 
T.  U.,  aside  from  our  own  beloved  “National,”  the  mother  of 
them  all  (as  the  Crusade  was  our  mother),  have  not  yet  been 
named. 

As  I  have  recently  become  President  of  the  World’s  W.  C. 
T.  U.,  let  me  epitomize  the  history  of  these  sister  societies  from 
official  reports  and  personal  knowledge  : 

The  British  Women’s  Temperance  Association  was  founded 
in  1876,  at  Newcastle-on-Tyne,  and  was  the  outcome  of  an  in¬ 
spiration  caught  by  Mrs.  Margaret  Parker,  from  the  American 
‘  ‘  Crusaders.  ’  ’  The  secretary  thus  sketches  its  origin  :  ‘  ‘  One  of  the 
first  aggressive  movements  was  in  the  town  of  Dundee,  Scotland. 
A  number  of  earnest  women  resolved  to  petition  the  magistrate 
to  reduce  the  number  of  public  houses  for  the  sale  of  intoxicating 
drinks.  Their  petition  was  in  the  name  of  the  wives,  mothers, 
and  sisters,  and  was  signed  by  upwards  of  nine  thousand  of 
them.  *  *  *  The  result  was  that  next  day  not  a  single  new 

license  was  given,  and  many  were  withdrawn.  Thus  commenced 
the  first  Women’s  Temperance  Prayer  Union  ;  and  first  one  town 
and  village  and  then  another  followed  the  example  of  Dundee  in 
establishing  Women’s  Temperance  Unions,  until  nearly  every 
town  was  doing  something,  and  many  Friendly  Inns  or  British 
Workman’s  Public  Houses  were  planted. 

“Still  there  wras  no  attempt  at  national  organization,  although 
it  had  been  a  cherished  thought  in  many  hearts.  Mrs.  Margaret 
Parker,  who  had  been  foremost  in  the  Dundee  deputation,  was 


2 

JO 

CD 


JO 

CD 

CD 
> 
c.  CD 

>  > 

>  * 
z 


m 

H 


> 

•< 

O 

c 

2 

> 

z 

CD 


13 

CO 

IS 

>  > 

?< 


a> 


c  ^ 


g 

H 

_  > 

z 

2  33 

>  > 


> 

JO 

D 


i 


Canadian  White  Ribboners. 


433 


in  America  afterward,  and  saw  the  efficient  Woman’s  Christian 
Temperance  Union  there,  and  feeling  assured  that  the  time  had 
come  for  a  similar  union  in  Great  Britain,  she  ventured  to  issue  a 
call,  which  was  nobly  responded  to.  A  conference  of  about  one 
hundred  and  fifty  ladies,  including  influential  delegates  from 
various  parts  of  the  Kingdom,  assembled  in  the  Central  Hall, 
Newcastle-on-Tyne,  on  Friday  morning,  April  21,  1876.  On  the 
motion  of  Mrs.  Lucas,  Mrs.  Parker,  of  Dundee,  was  called  to  the 
chair.  After  singing,  reading  the  Scripture  and  prayer,  Mrs. 
Parker,  in  opening  the  proceedings,  said  :  “In  accordance  with 
the  earnestly  expressed  wish  of  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temper¬ 
ance  Union  of  America,  and  the  firm  conviction  in  our  own  minds 
that  God  has  already  prepared  the  hearts  of  Christian  women 
throughout  the  land  to  do  a  great  work  for  Him  in  the  cause  of 
temperance,  this  convention  has  been  called.  *  *  *  We 

believe  that  there  is  such  a  power  in  the  influence  of  women  as, 
if  it  were  exerted  aright,  would  shake  the  kingdom  to  its  center 
on  this  important  subject,  and  the  country  is  in  perishing  need 
of  it  !  ”  From  this  time  the  society  has  gone  straight  on,  and 
now  has  a  large  number  of  auxiliaries. 

Mrs.  Margaret  Bright  Lucas,  who  for  3^ears  has  stood  at  the 
head  of  this  society,  is,  with  Mrs.  Mary  B.  Willard  and  Miss 
Charlotte  Gray,  of  Antwerp,  a  member  of  the  International  Tem¬ 
perance  Association  of  men  and  women,  organized  in  August, 
1885.  By  my  request,  the  commission  of  the  World’s  W.  C.  T.  U. 
chose  Mrs.  Lucas  as  first  president  of  that  society,  it  being  desired 
to  show  all  honor  to  the  mother  country  in  this  new  enterprise, 
and  to  enlist  our  British  cousins  to  the  utmost  as  its  active  friends. 

This  gifted  gentlewoman  is  the  youngest  child  of  Honorable 
Jacob  Bright,  and  sister  of  John  Bright,  the  great  English  Com¬ 
moner.  Although  over  seventy  years  of  age,  with  her  children 
long  ago  settled  in  life,  Mrs.  Lucas  travels  and  organizes 
constantly,  enlisting  her  countrywomen  wherever  she  goes. 

We  have  also  a  bright  young  ally  across  the  border — the 
Dominion  W.  C.  T.  U.,  with  provincial  auxiliaries  in  British 
Columbia,  Ontario,  Quebec,  New  Brunswick  and  Nova  Scotia. 

Its  history  is  one  of  heroism.  Our  delegates  to  Cincinnati 

W.  C.  T.  U.  Convention  in  1875,  met  there  Mrs.  Letitia  Youmans, 

the  earliest  white  ribbon  pioneer  in  Canada.  She  came  to  learn 
28 


434 


The  World' s  Petitio?i. 


our  methods  and  we  were  in  turn  astonished  and  delighted  by 
her  power  upon  the  platform.  Her  “Haman’s  License”  and 
“  Nehemiah  Building  the  Walls  ”  are  addresses  known  through¬ 
out  the  country  as  unrivaled  Bible  expositions  of  great  reform. 

The  British  temperance  women  publish  an  official  organ, 
The  British  Women' s  Temperance  Journal ,  and  the  Canadians 
have  one  also.  Both  exchange  with  The  Union  Signal ,  whose 
readers  skim  the  cream  of  the  temperance  world  each  week.  Can¬ 
ada’s  paper  is  The  Women's  Journal \  and  is  edited  by  Mrs.  Addie 
Chisholm,  of  Ottawa,  President  W.  C.  T.  U.  of  Ontario,  and  one 
of  the  ablest  women  in  our  ranks  anywhere.  Canada  women 
fearlessly  take  advance  positions.  The  Scott  Act  is  covering 
their  land  with  prohibition  ;  municipal  suffrage  for  women  is 
helping  solve  the  problem  of  their  great  cities. 

In  Toronto  a  temperance  mayor  was  elected  by  seventeen 
hundred  majority,  thanks  to  the  combined  votes  of  the  women 
and  the  workingmen.  We  must  look  well  to  our  laurels,  or  our 
allies  of  the  maple  leaf  will  be  first  at  the  goal  of  prohibition. 

Let  us  clasp  hands  in  the  wide  sisterhood  of  the  World’s 
W.  C.  T.  U.,  learning  its  motto — “  For  God ,  and  Home,  and 
Every  Land ,  ”  wearing  our  knots  of  white  ribbon,  observing  the 
noontide  hour  of  prayer,  working  steadily  for  the  overthrow  of 
the  use  and  sale  of  alcoholics  and  narcotics  the  world  around, 
and  remembering  the  watch-words,  Prevention,  Education ,  Evan¬ 
gelization ,  Purification ,  Prohibition. 

Let  us  also  circulate  from  house  to  house  this  the  World’s 
Petition  to  all  nations  : 

Honored  Rulers ,  Representatives  and  Brothers: 

We,  your  petitioners,  although  belonging  to  the  physically  weaker  sex, 
are  strong  of  heart  tc  love  our  Homes,  our  Native  Land  and  the  world’s 
family  of  Nations.  We  know  that  when  the  brain  of  man  is  clear,  his  heart 
is  kind,  his  home  is  happy,  his  country  prosperous,  and  the  world  grows 
friendly.  But  we  know  that  alcoholic  stimulants  and  opium,  which  craze 
and  cloud  the  brain,  make  misery  for  men  and  all  the  world,  and  most  of 
all  for  us  and  for  our  children.  We  know  these  stimulants  and  opiates  are 
forced  by  treaty  upon  populations  either  ignorant  or  unwilling,  and  sold 
under  legal  guarantees  which  make  the  governments  partners  in  the  traffic 
by  accepting  as  revenue  a  portion  of  its  profits.  We  have  no  power  to  pre¬ 
vent  this  great  iniquity  beneath  which  the  whole  world  groans  and  staggers, 
but  you  have  the  power  to  cleanse  the  flags  of  every  clime  from  the  stain  of 
their  complicity  with  this  unmingled  curse.  We,  therefore,  come  to  you 


Petitions  are  the  Temperance  Sun-glass. 


435 


with  the  united  voices  of  representative  women  from  every  civilized  nation 
under  the  sun,  beseeching  you  to  strip  away  the  safeguard  and  sanctions  of 
the  law  from  the  drink  traffic  and  the  opium  trade,  and  to  protect  our  homes 
by  the  total  prohibition  of  this  twofold  curse  of  civilization  throughout  all 
the  territory  over  which  your  government  extends. 

Names  of  Women.  Nationality. 

Mrs.  Mary  A.  Woodbridge,  Ravenna,  Ohio,  is  American  Sec¬ 
retary  of  the  World’s  W.  C.  T.  U.,  and  is  doing  earnest  work  for 
the  petition,  which  will  not  be  presented  until  we  have  two 
million  signatures  gathered  up  from  all  nations  of  the  world. 

It  is  translated  into  the  language  of  every  civilized  nation,  and 
is  to  be  circulated  in  every  country.  The  entire  list  of  names 
secured  will  be  presented  to  each  government.  Thus  the  Amer¬ 
ican  Congress  will  be  petitioned  to  abolish  the  liquor  traffic  in 
America  by  women  in  Great  Britain,  Australia,  Japan,  etc.  The 
same  will  be  true  of  the  Dominion  of  Canada.  The  British  Par¬ 
liament  will,  in  like  manner,  be  petitioned  to  abolish  the  alcohol 
traffic  and  the  opium  trade  by  women  from  America,  and  all  over 
the  world.  Indeed,  the  first  thought  of  this  petition  came  to  the 
president  of  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  of  the 
United  States,  when  reading  an  English  book  about  the  opium 
trade  in  India  and  China.  To  carry  out  this  idea,  an  organized 
movement  seemed  necessary,  that  the  women  of  the  whole  world, 
immeasurably  cursed  as  they  are  by  the  results  of  these  gigantic 
evils,  might  unitedly  appeal  to  the  men  of  the  world,  convened  in 
all  its  great  legislative  Assemblies,  and  represented  by  its  Poten¬ 
tates,  to  protect  and  deliver  them. 

There  is  a  vast  amount  of  righteous  sentiment  on  the  sub¬ 
jects  of  temperance  and  social  purity  that  is  scattered,  aifd  is, 
therefore,  comparatively  powerless.  It  needs  a  standard  around 
which  to  rally  ;  a  focus  for  its  scattered  rays  ;  and  the  great  peti¬ 
tion  supplies  this  need.  Besides  all  this,  the  reflex  influence  of 
the  petition  as  an  educational  force  upon  the  people  will  be  of 
immeasurable  value.  It  will  create  or  confirm  the  arrest  of 
thought  in  a  million  heads,  and  the  arrest  of  conviction  in  a 
million  hearts.  It  will  be,  in  effect,  a  muster-roll  for  our  army, 
and  those  who  circulate  it  will  be  virtually  recruiting  officers  in 
everybody’s  war.  Their  words  of  sweet  reasonableness  uttered 
in  a  million  ears  will  mightily  augment  the  sum  total  of  moral 


436  “  The  Federation  of  the  World.” 

influence.  The  Gatling  gun  of  pulpit,  press  and  platform,  send¬ 
ing  out  our  many-sided  arguments  and  loving  pleas,  will  gain 
incalculably  in  directness  of  aim  and  force  of  impression  from 
the  clear-cut  issue  furnished  by  the  great  petition.  Nor  will 
our  work  prove  to  have  been  “  love’s  labor  lost,”  in  the  great 
councils  to  which  it  is  addressed.  Nothing  within  the  scope  of 
our  possibilities  could  be  so  influential  and  commanding.  What 
two  million  of  the  most  intelligent  and  forceful  adults  on  this 
planet  ask  for,  over  their  own  signatures,  will  not  long  be  disre¬ 
garded  or  denied  by  their  representatives.  This  petition  will  be 
the  beginning  of  the  end.  Many  years  will  be  required  in  which 
to  work  it  up,  and  it  is  believed  that  in  no  way  can  the  same 
amount  of  effort  be  turned  to  better  account  in  the  interest  of 
unifying  and  forwarding  the  reforms  which  are  of  equal  import¬ 
ance  to  all  the  nations  of  the  earth. 

Far-sighted  philanthropists  are  looking  toward  a  time  in  the 
distant  future,  when,  in  the  words  of  the  poet — 

“The  war  drums  throb  110  longer,  and  the  battle  flags  are  furled, 

In  the  Parliament  of  Man,  the  Federation  of  the  World.” 

All  modern  thought  and  effort  are  tending  toward  this 
universal  federation,  which  it  is  hoped  will  one  day  control  the 
world’s  forces  in  the  interests  of  peace  and  of  every  right  reform. 


EMBLEM  OF  WORLD'S  W.  C. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


THE  GREATEST  PARTY. 

The  contradiction  and  malignity  of  political  debate  have 
long  since  ceased  to  mar  the  tranquility  of  my  spirit.  I  will  do 
what  I  can  do  to  mitigate  the  asperities  of  politics,  believing 
them  to  be  altogether  needless,  and  unnatural,  but  for  myself  I 
have  entered  the  region  of  calms  and  ‘  ‘  none  of  these  things  move 
me.”  If  this  work  be  of  God,  it  can  not  be  overthrown  ;  if  it  be 
not,  then  the  sooner  it  comes  to  naught,  the  better  for  humanity. 

The  year  1888  will  always  rank  as  having  been,  up  to  its  date, 
the  most  remarkable  in  the  history  of  the  Temperance  Reform . 
Being  the  year  of  a  Presidential  campaign,  it  was,  for  sufficiently 
apparent  reasons,  the  one  in  which  politicians  of  the  old  school 
would  do  least  for  prohibition  ;  but  the  presence  of  the  new 
school  in  politics  and  of  women  as  an  active  power  in  public 
affairs  to  a  degree  before  undreamed  of,  mark  it  as  a  sort  of  moral 
watershed.  In  England  the  Primrose  League  of  women  antag¬ 
onizing  Gladstone’s  policy,  and  the  Women’s  Liberal  League 
presided  over  by  that  great  statesman’s  wife,  counting  among  its 
officers,  Jane  Cobden  (Richard’s  daughter),  and  devoted  to  Home 
Rule,  had  already  demonstrated  the  power  of  women  in  politics. 
Meanwhile,  the  Prohibition  party  had  enjoyed  since  1881,  the 
active  cooperation  of  the  white  ribbon  women,  and  its  vote  had 
risen  from  ten  thousand  for  Gen.  Neal  Dow,  of  Maine,  as  Presi¬ 
dent  (in  1880),  to  over  one  hundred  and  fifty-one  thousand  for 
ex-Governor  St.  John,  of  Kansas,  in  1884.  The  Democratic 
party,  led  by  President  Cleveland,  projected  the  tariff  issue 
squarely  across  the  path  of  the  campaign  ;  Republicans  took  it  up 
eagerly,  distorted  the  revision  of  the  tariff,  which  was  the  actual 
issue,  into  the  abolition  of  the  tariff,  to  which  the  traditions  of 

(437) 


438 


The  Famous  ‘  ‘  Catnip  Tea  ’  ’  Resolution . 


the  money-getting  Yankee  nation  were  totally  opposed,  and  won 
the  battle  of  the  ballot-box  by  making  good  temperance  people 
believe  that  they  must  save  their  country,  just  once  more,  within 
the  old  lines  of  political  warfare,  by  unblushing  bribery,  and  by 
secretly  assuring  the  liquor  element  that  its  interests  would  be  as 
safe  in  Republican  as  in  Democratic  hands.  In  this  campaign, 
Mrs.  J.  Ellen  Foster,  of  Iowa,  went  before  the  Republican  Con¬ 
vention  with  representatives  of  the  anti-saloon  association,  and 
asked  for  a  temperance  plank.  The  report  of  the  Committee  on 
Resolutions  contained  no  reference  to  this  subject,  and  its  reaffir¬ 
mation  of  its  previous  platform  served  to  leave  the  infamous  “Ras¬ 
ter  Resolution  ”  in  full  force.  Subsequently,  on  the  night  of  the 
adjournment,  the  following  resolution  was  hurried  through  under 
circumstances  proving  to  fair-minded  lookers-on  that  it  was  but  a 
sop  in  the  form  of  a  subterfuge  to  the  prohibition  Cerberus  : 

Resolved ,  That  the  first  concern  of  all  good,  government  is  the  virtue 
and  sobriety  of  the  people  and  the  purity  of  the  home.  The  Republican 
party  cordially  sympathizes  with  all  wise  and  well-directed  efforts  for  the 
promotion  of  temperance  and  morality. 

Concerning  this  resolution,  the  liquor  men’s  leaders  and 
newspapers  declared  that  it  was  “  no  stronger  than  the  brewers 
themselves  had  adopted  ;  ’  ’  was  no  hindrance  to  their  remaining 
in  the  Republican  fold,  since  it  was  agreed  to  by  their  chiefs  at 
the  convention  before  being  offered,  and  was  declared  by  the 
doughty  Sheridan  Shook,  a  notable  New  York  liquor  politician, 
to  be  only  a  little  harmless  catnip  tea  for  the  temperance  ele¬ 
ment.  But  upon  this  basis,  as  well  as  because  of  their  supposed 
devotion  to  “the  heart  side  of  the  tariff  question,  ” — whatever 
that  may  be — Mrs.  Foster  called  upon  the  women  of  the  nation 
to  rally  to  “the  party  of  great  moral  ideas.  ”  She  was  elected 
by  the  Republican  National  Campaign  Committee,  Chairman  of 
the  Women’s  National  Republican  Committee,  which,  like  the 
former,  had  its  headquarters  in  New  York  City,  and  sent  out 
literature  in  which  the  tariff,  not  temperance,  had  the  right  of 
way.  Though  in  other  years  an  advocate  of  prohibition  and 
denouncer  of  liigh-license,  she  vigorously  championed  the  high- 
license  campaign  of  Hon.  Warner  Miller,  in  New  York  state,  and 
fought  the  Prohibition  party  with  a  vehemence  worthy  a  better 
cause.  This  was  the  first  time  that  women  had  ever  been  recosr- 

o 


The  Prohibitioji  Party  Convention. 


439 


nized  as  helpers  by  either  of  the  great  parties,  and  shows  the 
gathering  force  of  the  great  woman  movement  in  America  as 
everywhere.  No  doubt  the  attitude  of  the  Prohibition  party, 
which  had  from  the  first  recognized  women  as  integral  forces  in 
its  organization  and  which  had  for  many  years  given  them  a 
place  upon  its  National  Committee,  and  invited  them  as  dele¬ 
gates  to  all  of  its  conventions,  did  much  to  pioneer  the  way  for 
this  surprising  new  departure. 

The  success  of  Mrs.  Foster’s  effort  to  organize  Republican 
Clubs  of  women  was  not  conspicuous,  but,  chiefly  through  her 
efforts,  no  doubt,  some  clubs  were  formed,  women  participated  in 
the  campaign  as  speakers, — notably  Anna  Dickinson  and  Mrs. 
Foster,  women  escorted  speakers,  paraded  on  foot  in  processions, 
and  in  several  instances  occupied  the  ancient  and  honorable 
place  always  heretofore  accorded  to  the  brass  band. 

Democratic  women  were  hardly  heard  from,  except  as  occa¬ 
sional  wearers  of  the  “red,  red  rose”  or  wavers  of  the  bright 
bandana.  Women  appeared  before  every  one  of  the  national 
conventions  where  a  president  was  to  be  nominated,  and  asked 
that  an  equal  suffrage  plank  be  placed  in  their  platforms.  This 
was  done  by  the  Prohibition  and  by  one  wing  of  the  Labor  party, 
an  educational  test  being  attached  to  the  franchise  plank.  It 
goes  without  saying,  that  women  were  out  in  force  at  the  Prohi¬ 
bition  party  convention,  held  May  30,  at  Indianapolis  in  Tomlin¬ 
son  Hall.  Over  a  thousand  delegates  were  present,  of  whom 
about  one  hundred  were  of  the  steadfast  sex. 

Every  state,  except  South  Carolina  and  Louisiana,  and  all 
the  territories  but  four — Arizona,  Nevada,  Idaho,  and  Wyom¬ 
ing — were  represented.  It  was  a  gathering  of  the  home-folk,  but 
included  nearly  every  leading  nationality. 

Not  a  taint  of  tobacco  smoke  was  in  the  corridors  ;  not  a 
breath  betrayed  the  fumes  of  alcohol.  Clear-eyed,  kind-faced, 
well-dressed,  these  men  and  women  were  familiar  with  the  inside 
of  the  school-house,  the  church,  the  home,  but  not  with  that  of 
the  saloon. 

Promptly  at  10:00  o’clock  A.  m.,  the  manly  form  of  Samuel 
Dickie,  chairman  of  the  National  Committee,  was  seen  upon  the 
elegantly  decorated  platform,  and  he  called  the  other  members  of 
the  committee  and  the  National  Officers  of  the  Woman’s  Christian 


440 


Gen.  Clinton  B .  Fisk  Nominated. 


Temperance  Union  to  the  front,  amid  great  applause.  Then 
James  Black,  of  Pennsylvania,  the  party’s  first  candidate  for  pres¬ 
ident,  John  Russell,  of  Michigan,  its  founder,  John  P.  St.  John, 
its  last  candidate,  and  Neal  Dow,  the  father  of  prohibition,  stood 
in  line  on  the  platform,  amid  the  hurrahs  of  the  convention. 
“America”  was  sung,  and  Rev.  Sam  Small,  of  Georgia,  led  in 
prayer.  In  a  brief,  but  happy  speech,  Professor  Dickie  congratu¬ 
lated  the  party  on  its  steady  growth,  proposing  that  it  should 
make  a  coffin  of  ballot-boxes,  weave  a  shroud  from  ballots,  and 
bury  the  saloon  in  the  “bloody  chasm.”  Rev.  Mr.  Delano,  of 
Connecticut,  was  made  temporary  chairman.  He  said  the  Dem¬ 
ocratic  party  was  an  interrogation  point,  ‘  ‘  What  are  you  going 
to  do  about  it  ?”  The  Republican  was  an  exclamation  point,  “A 
tear  on  the  end  of  its  nose,”  “  Alas  !  Oh  !”  But  the  Prohibition 
party  was  a  period,  “  We’ll  put  a  stop  to  it.” 

Gen.  Clinton  B.  Fisk,  of  New  York,  was  nominated  for  the 
presidency,  amid  great  enthusiasm,  and  Rev.  Dr.  John  A.  Brooks, 
the  great  temperance  leader  of  Missouri,  was  nominated  for  vice- 
president.  Col.  George  W.  Bain,  of  Kentucky,  and  Rev.  Sam 
Small,  of  Georgia,  were  also  nominated  by  several  delegations 
for  vice-president,  but  insisted  upon  withdrawing  their  names. 
Thirty  thousand  dollars  were  subscribed  for  campaign  purposes. 

The  convention  was  an  immense  success  every  way.  Rev. 
Dr.  John  Bascom,  ex-president  of  Wisconsin  University,  was  a 
delegate ;  also  Father  Mahoney,  a  Catholic  priest  of  Minnesota, 
Professor  Scomp  of  Oxford  University,  Georgia,  with  Bishop 
Turner,  of  Georgia,  Rev.  Mr.  Hector,  of  California,  and  Rev.  Mr. 
Grandison,  of  Georgia — three  wonderfully  gifted  colored  men. 

A  resolution  urging  scientific  temperance  instruction  in  the 
public  schools  was  adopted,  also  one  insisting  on  the  rights  of  the 
colored  man.  The  latter  was  introduced  by  Mr.  Grandison,  a 
representative  of  Clark  University,  Atlanta,  seconded  by  Rev. 
Sam  Small,  and  adopted  unanimously. 

Prof.  Samuel  Dickie  was  re-elected  chairman. 

A  committee  of  ten,  with  Chairman  Dickie  at  their  head, 
was  chosen  to  bear  the  formal  announcement  of  the  convention’s 
action  to  General  Fisk.  This  committee  included  two  ladies — 
Mrs.  Hoffman,  of  Missouri,  and  myself,  and  was  another  of  the 
great  convention’s  new  departures.  There  was  fine  music  by  the 


The  Anti- Suffrage  Minority . 


44 1 


Silver  Rake  Quartette,  Herbert  Quartette,  Nebraska  Quartette 
(ladies),  and  the  “Jinglers”  (mellow- voiced  colored  men),  who 
invariably  brought  down  the  house.  The  gavel  used  by  ex-Gov- 
ernor  St.  John  was  presented  by  the  Kansas  delegation,  and  was 
made  from  a  bit  of  the  telegraph  pole  on  which  he  was  hung  in 
effigy  in  Topeka,  where  for  two  terms  he  had  been  governor, 
applauded  and  beloved.  At  eleven  o’clock  on  the  second  night 
the  great  convention  closed  with  the  doxology  and  prayer. 

There  was  a  rare  memorial  exercise  on  Decoration  Day,  five 
hundred  soldiers  of  the  Blue  and  Gray  being  assembled.  There 
was  also  an  oratorical  contest  for  the  Demorest  prize  medal  (pro¬ 
hibition  speeches  required),  and  an  intercollegiate  contest  ar¬ 
ranged  by  Mr.  Mills,  with  original  speeches  on  the  same  great 
theme.  Thus  every  opportunity  was  utilized  for  awakening 
public  sentiment. 

At  every  session,  the  hall,  holding  five  thousand  people, 
was  crowded.  The  convention  outran  the  expectations  of  its 
friends  and  followers.  It  was  wonderfully  earnest,  eloquent, 
devout,  and  it  marks  a  new  epoch  in  Christian  civilization. 

At  this  memorable  convention  a  small  minority,  led  by 
Walter  Thomas  Mills,  did  its  utmost  to  defeat  the  equal  suffrage 
plank,  on  the  plea  that  “  two  issues  ”  could  not  be  carried  at  a 
time,  that  this  plank  alienated  the  South,  in  general,  and  con¬ 
servatives  at  the  North,  in  particular,  with  other  minor  objec¬ 
tions.  This  minority  had  agitated  the  subject  vigorously  for  a 
year  or  more,  and  had  thus  put  leaders,  as  well  as  rank  and  file, 
so  thoroughly  on  guard,  that  when  the  vote  came,  only  about 
sixty  voted  to  drop  the  plank  which  had  been  in  from  the  first 
nominating  convention  of  the  party  in  1872. 

Although  we  had  a  very  large  majority  in  the  Committee 
on  Resolutions,  of  which  I  was  a  member,  our  desire  to  hear  all 
sides  and  reach  a  settlement  as  amicable  as  possible  caused  a 
long  debate,  in  which  Rev.  Sam  Small,  of  Georgia,  gallantly 
declared  at  last  his  willingness  to  let  the  resolution  pass,  because, 
as  he  said,  “The  majority  has  been  so  magnanimous  that  I  can 
not  do  less  than  bow  my  neck  to  the  yoke.” 

James  Black,  of  Pennsylvania,  the  Prohibition  party’s  first 
nominee  for  president,  was  chairman  of  the  Committee  on  Reso¬ 
lutions.  He  is  a  man  of  noble  countenance,  and  every  way 


442 


Fhe  Indianapolis  Platform. 


impressive  presence.  When  our  sub-committee,  to  whom  the 
controverted  resolution  was  submitted  (North  and  South,  con¬ 
servative  and  progressive,  all  being  represented  in  that  small 
midnight  group  of  seven),  had  agreed  upon  the  form,  from  the 
deep  heart  of  this  saintly  man  came  the  solemn  words,  ‘  ‘  Thank 
God,”  and  he  bowed  his  head  in  prayer.  The  resolution  was 
his  own  ;  he  had  carried  one,  almost  identical  in  language, 
through  the  first  convention  of  the  Prohibition  party  and,  but  a 
few  weeks  earlier,  through  that  of  his  own  state. 

When  our  committee  filed  into  the  great  hall  next  day,  the 
gentlemen  and  ladies  that  composed  it  marching  arm  in  arm 
upon  the  platform,  all  felt  that  the  hour  was  come  when  the 
manhood  of  this  rising  power  in  American  politics  was  to  declare 
decisively  not  only  in  favor  of  prohibition  by  law  and  prohibi¬ 
tion  by  politics,  but  prohibition  by  woman’s  ballot,  as  the  final 
consummation  of  the  war  upon  King  Alcohol,  the  most  relentless 
foe  of  womanhood  and  home. 

I  believe  history  will  not  forget  that  scene.  Governor  St. 
John,  the  hero  of  the  Kansas  fight  for  Constitutional  Amend¬ 
ment,  was  the  central  figure  of  the  platform  group,  his  keen,  but 
kindly  face  and  military  bearing  being  well  suited  to  the  duty 
we  had  laid  on  his  broad  shoulders  as  the  convention’s  chairman. 
Around  him  were  men  and  women  known  throughout  the  nation 
as  leaders  for  many  a  year  of  the  Prohibition  host  in  every  contest 
made  and  every  victory  won. 

This  was  the  Prohibition  party’s  platform  in  1888,  upon  which 
there  is  reason  to  believe  that  in  spite  of  defection,  misrepresenta¬ 
tion,  bribery  and  the  stolen  mailing  lists  of  the  New  York  Voice, 
three  hundred  thousand  men  took  their  position.  I11  it,  the  word 
Christian  occurs  perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  American  politics  : 

PLATFORM. 

The  Prohibition  party,  in  national  convention  assembled,  acknowl¬ 
edging  Almighty  God  as  the  source  of  all  power  in  government,  do  hereby 
declare : 

1.  That  the  manufacture,  importation,  exportation,  transportation, 
and  sale  of  alcoholic  beverages  should  be  made  public  crimes,  and  pro¬ 
hibited  as  such. 

2.  That  such  prohibition  must  be  secured  through  amendments  of 
our  national  and  state  constitutions,  enforced  by  adequate  laws  adequately 
.supported  by  administrative  authority  ;  and  to  this  end  the  organization  of 
the  Prohibition  party  is  imperatively  demanded  in  state  and  nation. 


“  Great  Moral  Ideas." 


443 


3.  That  any  form  of  license,  taxation,  or  regulation  of  the  liquor  traffic 
is  contrary  to  good  government ;  that  any  party  which  supports  regulation, 
license,  or  tax  enters  into  alliance  with  such  traffic,  and  becomes  the  actual 
foe  of  the  state’s  welfare ;  and  that  we  arraign  the  Republican  and  Demo¬ 
cratic  parties  for  their  persistent  attitude  in  favor  of  the  licensed  iniquity, 
whereby  they  oppose  the  demand  of  the  people  for  prohibition,  and,  through 
open  complicity  with  the  liquor  crime,  defeat  the  enforcement  of  law. 

4.  For  the  immediate  abolition  of  the  internal  revenue  system  whereby 
our  national  government  is  deriving  support  from  our  greatest  national  vice. 

5.  That,  an  adequate  public  revenue  being  necessary,  it  may  properly 
be  raised  by  import  duties,  and  by  an  equitable  assessment  upon  the  property 
and  legitimate  business  of  the  country,  but  import  duties  should  be  so  re¬ 
duced  that  no  surplus  shall  be  accumulated  in  the  treasury,  and  that  the 
burdens  of  taxation  shall  be  removed  from  foods,  clothing,  and  other  com¬ 
forts  and  necessaries  of  life. 

6.  That  the  right  of  suffrage  rests  on  no  mere  accident  of  race,  color, 
sex,  or  nationality,  and  that  where,  from  any  cause,  it  has  been  withheld 
from  citizens  who  are  of  suitable  age  and  mentally  and  morally  qualified 
for  the  exercise  of  an  intelligent  ballot,  it  should  be  restored  by  the  people 
through  the  legislatures  of  the  several  states,  on  such  educational  basis  as 
they  may  deem  wise. 

7.  That  civil  service  appointments  for  all  civil  offices  chiefly  clerical 
in  their  duties,  should  be  based  upon  moral,  intellectual,  and  physical  qual¬ 
ifications,  and  not  upon  party  service  or  party  necessity. 

8.  For  the  abolition  of  polygamy  and  the  establishment  of  uniform 
laws  governing  marriage  and  divorce. 

9.  For  prohibiting  all  combinations  of  capital  to  control  and  to  increase 
the  cost  of  products  for  popular  consumption. 

10.  For  the  preservation  and  defense  of  the  Sabbath  as  a  civil  institu¬ 
tion,  without  oppressing  any  who  religiously  observe  the  same  on  any  other 
day  than  the  first  day  of  the  week. 

11.  That  arbitration  is  the  Christian,  wise,  and  economic  method  of 
settling  national  differences,  and  that  the  same  method  should,  by  judicious 
legislation,  be  applied  to  the  settlement  of  disputes  between  large  bodies  of 
employes  and  employers.  That  the  abolition  of  the  saloon  would  remove 
burdens,  moral,  physical,  pecuniary,  and  social,  which  now  oppress  labor 
and  rob  it  of  its  earnings,  and  would  prove  to  be  the  wise  and  successful 
way  of  promoting  labor  reform,  and  that  we  invite  labor  and  capital  to  unite 
with  us  for  the  accomplishment  thereof.  That  monopoly  in  land  is  a  wrong 
to  the  people,  and  that  the  public  land  should  be  reserved  to  actual  settlers, 
and  that  men  and  women  should  receive  equal  wages  for  equal  work. 

12.  That  our  immigration  laws  should  be  so  enforced  as  to  prevent  the 
introduction  into  our  country  of  all  convicts,  inmates  of  other  dependent 
institutions,  and  all  others  physically  incapacitated  for  self-support,  and 
that  no  person  should  have  the  ballot  in  any  state  who  is  not  a  citizen  of 
the  Uuited  States. 


444 


Two  Hours ’  Debate. 


Recognizing  and  declaring  that  prohibition  of  the  liquor  traffic  has 
become  the  dominant  issue  in  national  politics,  we  invite  to  full  party 
fellowship  all  those  who,  on  this  one  dominant  issue,  are  with  us  agreed, 
in  the  full  belief  that  this  party  can  and  will  remove  sectional  differences, 
promote  national  unity,  and  insure  the  best  welfare  of  our  entire  land. 

The  opening  resolution  was  listened  to  with  devout  serious¬ 
ness,  and  was  adopted  by  a  rising  vote,  without  debate. 

The  prohibition  resolution  was  received  with  hearty  but  not 
prolonged  applause.  We  were  there  as  the  sequel  of  its  fore¬ 
gone  conclusions. 

The  resolution  declaring  in  favor  of  women’s  receiving 
‘  ‘  equal  wages  for  equal  work,  ’  ’  evoked  enthusiasm  ;  it  was  rapt¬ 
urously  cheered  ;  all  felt  that  it  was  like  the  drops  that  precede 
the  plentiful  shower.  Toward  the  close  came  the  crucial  test  in 
the  famous  “sixth  resolution.”  Its  reading  “brought  down  the 
house  ”  with  roars  of  applause  and  brought  up  the  house  again, 
hundreds  rising  to  their  feet  with  cheer  upon  cheer  of  approba¬ 
tion.  It  was  then  voted  to  debate  the  question  two  hours,  and 
the  clear  voice  of  Professor  Dickie,  chairman  of  the  National 
Committee,  was  heard  suggesting  that  leaders  should  be  chosen 
on  either  side  to  make  the  arguments.  Nobody  doubted  where 
he  stood  whose  pure  life  had  delivered  him  from  the  worship  of 
physical  force  ;  whose  first  vote  and  every  ballot  since  then  had 
been  east  for  the  Prohibition  candidates,  and  who,  in  the  call 
issued  for  this  very  convention,  had  stated  that  “  a  fair  represen¬ 
tation  of  women  delegates  was  desirable.”  But  the  rank  and 
file  desired  to  whack  for  themselves  the  ball  now  set  in  motion  ; 
hence  Professor  Dickie’s  plan  was  voted  down,  and  free  lances 
were  tilted  with  great  vigor  from  floor  and  platform,  scores  at  a 
time  seeking  to  obtain  the  floor  up  to  the  final  vote.  A  minority 
of  one,  in  the  person  of  John  M.  Olin,  of  Wisconsin,  reported 
against  the  resolution.  This  gentlemen  .spoke  ably  from  his  point 

of  view,  as  did  Walter  Thomas  Mills,  T.  C.  Richmond  and  our 

\ 

good  Neal  Dow.  All  of  them  were  believers  in  equal  suffrage 
but  thought  this  was  not  the  time  to  declare  for  it,  General  Dow 
saying,  “  After  we  secure  prohibition,  we  will  give  the  ballot  to  our 
faithful  allies.”  But  it  fell  to  my  lot  to  remind  these  good 
brothers  that  though  Maine  had  rejoiced  in  prohibition  for  over 
forty  years,  it  last  winter  voted  down  a  proposition  to  enfranchise 


“No  Sex  in  Citizenship 


445 


women  ;  that  we  have  what  we  take  the  most  pains  for,  and 
unless  we  take  especial  pains  to  secure  the  ballot  for  woman,  she 
will  never  be  armed  and  equipped  as  the  law  directs,  for  the 
home  protection  fight  where  ‘  ‘  the  guns  are  ballots  and  the  bul¬ 
lets  are  ideas.”  With  some  such  points  as  these,  I  closed  the 
debate,  and  Sam  Small  came  forward,  took  my  hand  and  spoke  in 
his  eloquent  way,  saying,  in  effect,  that  “  as  we  had  added  the 
educational  test,  he  would  stand  with  us.  ’  ’  The  South  had  been 
most  generous  from  the  beginning,  showing  a  .spirit  of  forbear¬ 
ance  and  good-will  for  which  the  women  of  that  convention  can 
never  be  too  grateful.  If  its  delegates  had  not  with  practical 
unanimity  favored  our  cause,  I  fear  we  might  have  lost  it  on  that 
most  eventful  day  ever  known  to  woman’s  annals  of  enfranchise¬ 
ment.  George  W.  Bain  made  one  of  his  most  brilliant  .speeches, 
in  our  favor,  and  other  gifted  Southerners  proved  that  with  them 
the  chivalry  of  justice  outranked  that  of  compliment.  “Who 
would  be  free,  himself  must  strike  the  blow,”  is  a  truth  that 
received  new  confirmation  in  this  memorable  debate,  where  not  one 
woman’s  voice  or  vote  was  given  against  the  famous  resolution. 

When  the  count  came,  Secretary  Cranfill  announced  less 
than  thirty  negatives,  but  Walter  Thomas  Mills  claimed  sixty, 
and  Chairman  St.  John,  in  his  humorous  way,  said,  “Let  it  be 
as  he  says.”  Then  came  the  climax  of  the  convention,  when 
flags  waved,  wooden  “  cranks  ”  humorously  creaked  when  turned 
by  live  ones,  state  delegations  hoisted  aloft  their  banners,  wom¬ 
en’s  white  handkerchiefs  were  like  a  wind-blown  argosy,  and 
with  shouts  of  hallelujah,  men  pointed  to  the  significant  motto 
above  the  platform,  where  the  loyal  white  ribboners  of  Indiana 
had  flung  their  pennon  forth,  “No  sex  in  citizenship .”  They 
knew  the  Supreme  Court  had  said  there  was  none,  but  they  knew 
also  that  those  cannot  really  be  citizens  who  have  no  voice  in 
making  the  laws  they  must  obey. 

At  the  close  of  this  session,  I  received  what  is  called  in  pop¬ 
ular  American  parlance,  “an  ovation”;  with  half  a  score  of 
strong  men’s  hands  stretched  toward  me  at  a  time,  I  hardly  knew 
which  one  to  grasp,  while  their  kind  voices  said  over  and  over 
again,  “  You  ought  to  be  a  happy  woman  ;  ”  “  This  is  the  Gos¬ 
pel’s  triumph;”  “I  wish  your  old  mother  had  seen  this;” 
“Hurrah  for  our  side!”  and  other  exclamations  of  rejoicing. 


446  Reminiscence  of  Illmois  IV.  C.  7.  Iff 

Now  and  then  I  would  say,  ‘  ‘  My  brother,  what  led  you  to  vote 
for  us?”  The  answers  were  all  tributes  to  home’s  steadfast  influ¬ 
ence  :  “  Oh,  I  was  born  a  suffragist,”  said  one  ;  “Women  must 
help  us  save  the  nation  if  it’s  ever  saved  “  My  wife  educated 
me  up  to  this”;  and  repeatedly  young  voters  answered,  “Why 
should  n’t  we  ?  I  don’t  forget  that  my  mother  is  a  woman  !  ” 
Slipping  away  with  those  good  sisters,  Anna  Gordon  and 
Anna  Shaw,  who  shared  with  me  Mrs.  May  Wright  Sewall’s 
hospitalities,  I  could  but  think,  as  we  walked  on  in  silence,  of 
that  other  day  in  Dixon,  Ill.,  in  the  year  1875,  at  the  second  ses¬ 
sion  of  the  Illinois  W.  C.  T.  U.,  when  I  was  in  the  second  year 
of  my  temperance  work.  I  remembered  writing  a  declaration  to 
this  effect :  “  Resolved ,  That  since  woman  is  the  greatest  sufferer 

from  the  rum  curse,  she  ought  to  have  power  to  close  the 
dram-shop  door  over  against  her  home.  ’  ’  I  remembered  kneel¬ 
ing  in  prayer  with  my  friend  and  room-mate,  Mrs.  Louise  S. 
Rounds,  who  agreed  to  support  me  in  this  first  attempt  ;  then 
going  over  to  the  convention  and  getting  this  resolution  offered, 
I  seemed  to  hear  once  more  the  quiet  emphasis  of  the  presiding 
officer,  as  she  said,  “  What  will  3^011  do  with  this  woman  suffrage 
resolution  ?  ’  ’  and  the  decisive  tones  of  the  treasurer  as  she  said, 
“  I  move  we  lay  it  on  the  table.”  I  almost  felt  once  more  the 
painful  heartbeats  of  suspense,  and  the  joyful  surprise  when  no 
one  seconded  the  motion  ;  then  the  debate,  when  a  brave  voice — 
I  wish  I  could  know  whose — broke  the  stillness  with,  “  I  move  it 
be  adopted.”  I  remembered  the  broken  words  in  which  I  there¬ 
upon  asked  the  women  of  the  prairies  that  if  they  did  not 
speak  out,  who  would?  Surety  not  the  conservative  East,  the 
silent  South,  the  unorganized  Northwest.  We  all  knew  that 
woman  was  the  liquor  traffic’s  natural  enemy.  In  Illinois  the 
law  said  the  municipal  officers  might  license  or  not  “  in  their  dis¬ 
cretion  ’  ’  ;  men  were  not  discreet  in  this  matter,  as  was  proved  by 
saloons  on  ever>r  hand,  but  women  would  be.  Wh>r  not  let  them 
help  good  men  elect  officers  who  would  truly  represent  the  major¬ 
ity,  and  not  saddle  the  saloon  upon  our  people  with  its  outcome 
of  three  thousand  lunatics  let  loose  each  day  upon  defenseless 
homes  ?  I  told  them  that  I  had  no  home  in  that  word’s  highest 
and  most  sacred  sense,  and  never  should  have  in  this  world, 
though  I  hoped  to  in  a  better,  and  that  if  I  could  brave  an 


The  Blue  and  Gray. 


447 


adverse  public  opinion  for  the  sake  of  other  women’s  homes, 
surely  they  could  do  so  for  the  sake  of  their  own.  These  words  I 
could  hardly  speak  for  the  ache  in  heart  and  throat,  and  I  saw 
tears  in  many  a  gentle  woman’s  eyes  as  I  made  my  simple  plea. 
When  the  vote  came  I  think  there  was  not  one  dissenting  voice- — 
if  there  were  such  I  can  not  now  recall  them. 

And  thus  the  good  ship  Illinois  swung  from  her  moorings 
and  put  out  to  sea  for  a  long  and  stormy  voyage. 

I  thought,  too,  on  that  blessed  day  at  Indianapolis,  of  the 
ringing  words  of  Mrs.  Tide  Meriwether,  of  Tennessee  : 

“She  is  launched  on  the  wave,  the  good  ship  Prohibition  ! 

The  wave  of  humanity,  boundless  and  free.  ’  ’ 

I  had  been  invited  by  Chairman  Dickie  to  make  a  Decora¬ 
tion  Day  speech  before  the  “  Army  of  Blue  and  Gray,”  as  repre¬ 
sented  at  this  Convention.  Here  follows  the  substance  of  this 
address: 

THU  GREATEST  PARTY. 

Here  side  by  side  sit  the  Blue  and  Gray.  No  other  than  the  Prohibition 
party  ever  dared  to  be  so  great  as  to  ordain  a  scene  like  this.  I  speak  the 
words  of  truth  and — soberness. 

What  a  circle  we  have  here  !  Sweep  the  compasses  of  thought  through 
its  circumference.  Prohibition,  first  of  all,  the  fixed  point  whence  we  cal¬ 
culate  all  others.  The  Blue  and  the  Gray,  the  workingmen,  the  women. 
Inclosed  and  shielded  by  this  circle  is  the  home — that  goes  without  saying  ; 
and  beyond  its  shining  curve  is  the  saloon,  out-matched,  out-witted,  and  out¬ 
voted,  which,  in  a  republic,  is  best  of  all.  For  the  fiat  of  the  greatest  party 
has  gone  forth,  and  we  are  here  simply  to  set  our  seals  to  it  ;  no  saloon  in 
politics  or  law,  no  sectionalism  in  law  or  politics,  no  sex  in  citizenship,  but 
liberty,  equality,  fraternity  in  politics  and  law,  now  and  for  evermore. 

This  is  our  platform  in  a  nutshell,  and  it  is  a  platform  of  four  ideas,  at 
least. 

When,  in  all  history,  were  such  matchless  issues  espoused  by  such  mag¬ 
nanimous  men  ? 

Thefe  are  two  other  parties  ;  big,  but  not  great ;  multitudinous,  not  mas¬ 
terful.  Their  tissue  is  adipose,  not  muscular.  The  issues  of  the  one  are 
made  literally  out  of  whole  cloth,  of  all-wyool  tariff,  warranted  to  wash  in  yet 
one  more  campaign,  and  the  ensanguined  shirt  warranted  never  to  be  washed 
at  all.  Those  of  the  other  are  spoils  and  Bourbonism.  They  will  soon  rally 
their  respective  clans  to  their  stereotyped,  old-fashioned  conventions  in  Chi¬ 
cago  and  St.  Louis,  prepared  to  fight,  bleed,  and  die  for  their  country  and 
its  offices  once  more.  Not  a  woman  will  be  in  their  delegations.  A  woman 
might  displace  some  man.  Not  a  word  about  the  home.  No  decisive  utter¬ 
ance  as  to  the  greatest  of  our  national  perils. 


“  Let  Us  Have  Peace  P 


448' 

Probably  women  would  not  attend  these  conventions,  even  were  their 
presence  sought.  They  certainly  could  not  hold  their  own  at  the  bar  of  the 
saloon,  while  in  the  greatest  party  they  are  only  required  to  hold  their  own 
at  the  bar  of  public  opinion. 

Meanwhile,  as  if  to  set  before  these  brethren  a  loftier  example,  the  great¬ 
est  party  welcomes  here  the  home-folks  to  equal  opportunities  and  honors, 
and  rallies  here  a  remnant  of  the  noble  veterans  who  have  learned  that  it  is 
good  to  forgive,  best  to  forget,  attesting  by  this  splendid  and  fraternal  object- 
lesson  that  one  party  spells  “  nation  ”  with  the  tallest  kind  of  a  capital  “N” 
— one  that  indeed  includes  “the people  of  these  United  States  ”  —  and  that 
the  Blue  and  the  Gray  are  to  us  emblems  of  nothing  less  than  the  blue  sky 
that  bends  its  tender  arch  above  us  all,  and  the  gray  ocean  that  enfolds  one 
country  and  one  flag. 

“  Angels  look  downward  from  the  skies 
Upon  no  holier  ground, 

Than  where  defeated  valor  lies 

By  generous  foemen  crowned.” 

How  Grant  would  have  rejoiced  to  look  upon  a  scene  like  this — he  whose 
most  memorable  words  were,  “  Let  us  have  peace  !  ”  by  whose  sick-bed  sat 
General  Buckner  of  the  Confederate  army,  and  to  whose  recent  birthday  cel¬ 
ebration  rallied  Fitz  Hugh  Ivee  and  other  Southern  braves ! 

The  leaders  of  the  party  that  was  great  when  great  Lincoln  was  its  chief, 
are  pleased  in  these  days  of  its  fatal  degeneracy  to  call  us  the  “St.  John- 
ites.”  He  is  our  patron  saint — Heaven  bless  him  !  — who  laid  himself  upon 
the  altar  of  our  sacred  cause,  and  in  the  flame  of  partisan  wrath  that  fol¬ 
lowed  the  defeat  of  1884  proved  to  be  a  whole  burnt-offering,  yet  I  present 
him  to  you  here  to-night,  one  of  the  most  gallant  Union  soldiers,  “  without 
the  smell  of  fire  upon  his  garments.” 

That  party  dare  not  gather  Blue  and  Gray  at  its  convention  lest  they 
should  spoil  its  ammunition  and  tip  one  chief  plank  of  its  platform  into  the 
last  ditch.  What  would  it  do  if  thus  ruthlessly  deprived  of  that  time-worn 
utterance  about  “a  free  ballot  and  a  fair  count,  ”  which  in  its  long  years  of  su¬ 
premacy  it  has  proved  itself  impotent  to  secure,  while  the  greatest  party,  by 
dividing  the  white  vote  into  two  hostile  camps  on  the  prohibition  issue,  is 
opening  a  straight  path  for  the  black  man  to  the  polls  ? 

The  women  who  uniformed  their  sons  in  Southern  gray,  and  said,  like 
the  Spartan  mother  of  old,  “  Come  ye  as  conquerors  or  come  ye  no  more,” 
are  here  to-night  with  those  other  women  who  belted  Northern  swords  upon 
their  boys  in  blue,  with  words  as  pitiful,  as  brave.  The  women  who  em¬ 
broidered  stars  and  stripes  upon  the  blessed  flag  that  symbolized  their  love 
and  faith,  to-day  have  only  gentle  words  for  those  who  decked  their  “bonny 
flag  of  stars  and  bars”  with  tenderness  as  true  and  faith  as  fervent.  The 
greatest  party  seats  these  women  side  by  side  to-night,  and  we  all  wear  our 
snowy  badge  of  peace  above  the  hearts  that  hate  no  more,  while  we  clasp 
hands  in  a  compact  never  to  be  broken,  and  solemnly  declare,  before  high 
Heaven,  our  equal  hatred  of  the  rum  power  and  our  equal  loyalty  to  God 
and  home  and  native  land. 


The  Sword  of  Lee." 


449 


<  i 


What  hath  God  wrought?  Surely  a  winsome  thing  is  the  human  heart. 
It  went  against  the  grain  for  us  to  hate  each  other,  did  it  not,  dear  Southern 
friends  and  allies  ?  Never  in  history  was  there  a  war  involving  so  little  per¬ 
sonal  animosity.  The  French  by  nature  hate  the  English,  and  .speak  about 
“perfidious  Albion,”  and  we  know  that  “  lands  intersected  by  a  narrow  frith 
abhor  each  other,”  but  our  great  unsevered  continent  was  meant  for  an  un¬ 
severed  people,  and  “  man  breaks  not  the  medal  when  God  cuts  the  die.  ” 
One  Anglo-Saxon  race,  having  one  heritage  of  a  queenly  language  and  a 
heroic  history  of  hardships  mutually  borne—it  was  hard  for  us  to  hate  each 
other.  The  soldiers  learned  this  first,  brave  and  chivalric  fellows,  and  they 
helped  to  teach  us  stay-at-homes  the  gracious  lesson  of  fraternity.  How 
often  was  the  rude  wreath  of  leaves  placed  on  the  grave  of  a  Confederate  by 
the  Union  soldier  who  had  killed  and  yet  who  had  wrept  over  him  !  The 
fury  of  the  non-combatant  w7as  almost  the  only  fury  that  survived  Grant’s 
brotherly  words  to  Lee  at  Appomattox. 

Devoted  to  the  stars  and  stripes,  the  sentiment  of  patriotism  having 
been,  from  childhood,  like  a  fire  in  the  bones  with  me,  I  have  wept  over 
the  flag  for  love  of  which  great  Stonewall  Jackson  and  gallant  Albert  Sidney 
Johnston  died.  Nor  do  I  envy  the  Northern  patriot  who  can  read  without 
a  tugging  of  the  heart  that  wondrous  poem  by  Father  Ryan,  the  South¬ 
ern  Catholic  priest,  about  “The  Sword  of  Lee,”  and  I  can  hardly  trust  my¬ 
self  to  repeat  his  requiem  of  the  Southern  flag: 

“  Fold  that  banner,  for  ’tis  weary  ; 

Round  its  staff  ’tis  floating  dreary, 

Furl  it,  fold  it :  it  is  best ; 

For  there’s  not  a  man  to  wave  it, 

And  there’s  not  a  sword  to  save  it, 

And  there’s  not  one  left  to  lave  it 
In  the  blood  that  heroes  gave  it, 

And  its  foes  now  scorn  and  brave  it ; 

Furl  it,  hide  it,  let  it  rest. 

“  Furl  that  banner,  furl  it  sadly  ; 

Once  ten  thousands  hailed  it  gladly, 

And  ten  thousands  wildly,  madly 
Swore  it  should  forever  wave  ; 

Swore  that  foeman’s  swrord  should  never 
Hearts  like  theirs  entwined  dissever, 

Till  that  flag  should  float  forever 

O’er  their  freedom  or  their  grave. 

“  Furl  that  banner,  softly,  slowly; 

Treat  it  gently,  it  is  holy, 

For  it  droops  above  the  dead. 

Touch  it  not,  unfold  it  never, 

Let  it  droop  there,  furled  forever, 

For  its  people’s  hopes  are  dead.” 

Not  that  I  loved  that  flag.  No,  brothers.  I  loved  the  slave  too  well  not 
to  desire  its  downfall ;  but  then,  so  many  brave  hearts  bled  for  it,  so  many 
gentle  women  wrept,  that  I  could  be  sincerely  sorry  for  their  grief,  and  yet 
be  loyal  to  an  emancipated  race  and  my  own  glorious  North.  When  the 
29 


450 


Natio?ialism  as  Against  Sectionalism. 


troops  were  mustered  out  in  1865,  we  little  dreamed  that  less  than  ten  years 
later  the  home  guards  of  the  land  would  be  mustered  in  to  the  war  of  the 
crusade.  God  bless  the  crusade  state,  the  veteran  of  our  army! 

As  the  sequel  of  that  mighty  movement,  God’s  pentecost  of  power  upon 
the  nations,  behold  the  women  who,  only  a  year  ago,  went  to  the  polls  to 
persuade  men  to  cast  their  ballot  for  prohibition  in  Oregon  and  Texas,  in 
Michigan  and  Tennessee.  If  the  voters  of  the  greatest  party  are  true  to  us 
as  we  have  been  and  will  be  true  to  them,  ten  years  hence  we  will  help  those 
who  were  beaten  in  four  states  that  stood  for  constitutional  prohibition  in 
1885,  with  our  guns  that  are  ballots,  as  we  are  now  helping  with  our  bullets 
that  are  ideas. 

I  never  expected  to  speak  with  pride  about  the  Solid  South  as  such,  but 
surely  I  may  do  this  now  that  it  is  becoming  solid  for  the  “  dry  ticket,”  and 
you  who  dwell  there  may  be  glad  that  the  Northern  heart  is  fired  once 
more,  this  time  with  the  same  war-cry  as  that  which  fires  the  Southern,  and 
it  is  “  protection  for  our  homes.”  That  is  the  spell  to  conjure  by.  That  is 
the  rallying  cry  of  North  and  South,  Protestant  and  Catholic,  of  white  and 
black,  of  men  and  women  equally.  Bourbon  Democrat  and  Radical  Repub¬ 
lican  will  seek  in  vain  to  stifle  that  swift-swelling  chorus,  that  “  chorus  of 
the  Union,”  for  which  great  Lincoln  vainly  prayed  in  his  first  inaugural. 
Do  you  not  recall  this  marvelous  concluding  sentence  (I  quote  from  mem¬ 
ory)  :  “The  mystic  chords  of  memory,  stretching  from  many  a  sacred 
hearth  and  patriot's  grave,  all  over  this  broad  land,  shall  once  more  swell  the 
chorus  of  the  Union  when  again  touched,  as  surely  they  will  be,  by  the  bet¬ 
ter  angel  of  our  nature.”  The  angel  is  the  temperance  reform,  and  the  ful¬ 
fillment  of  that  prophecy  we  have  lived  to  see. 

The  greatest  party  stands  for  nationalism  as  against  sectionalism  ;  it 
stands  for  the  noblest  aims  and  aspirations  of  the  wage-worker  as  against 
monopolies  that  dare  to  profane  that  holy  word,  “  trust  ”  ;  it  stands  for  the 
future  in  politics  as  against  the  past,  the  home  vote  with  an  educational  test 
against  the  saloon  vote  with  a  beer-breath  as  its  credentials  ;  and,  best  of  all, 
it  stands  for  the  everlasting  and  absolute  prohibition  of  sin  as  against  any  al¬ 
liance  between  sin  and  the  government.  For  while  the  greatest  party  will 
never  hesitate  to  be  the  champions  of  these  Causes  good  and  great,  so  closely 
linked  with  its  own  central  purposes,  neither  must  it  fail  to  put  prohibition 
by  law  and  prohibition  by  politics  so  far  in  the  lead  that  no  candid  man  can 
for  a  moment  question  the  august  supremacy  of  these  overmastering  issues. 
We  are  firmly  persuaded  that  the  separation  of  the  people  into  two  distinct 
armies,  one  voting  for  men  who  will  outlaw  the  poison  curse,  and  the  other 
for  men  who  will  legalize  it,  must  come,  and  that  such  separation  can  not 
come  too  soon.  We  are  not  here  to  speak  harsh  words  of  armies  rallied  un¬ 
der  other  ensigns,  but  simply  to  declare  that  in  this  great  emergency  we  can 
not  depend  upon  them.  Party  machinery  and  the  ambition  of  party  leaders 
to-day  stand  between  the  people  and  their  opportunity.  We  wTould  clearthe 
track  for  prohibition.  We  are  bound  to  do  it.  For  that  were  we  born,  and 
for  that  came  we  into  this  world. 

When  I  think  of  Lexington  and  Paul  Revere  ;  when  I  think  of  Bunker 


Heroes  of  South  and  North. 


45i 


Hill  and  the  dark  redoubt  where  General  Warren  died  ;  when  I  think  of 
Washington,  that  greatest  of  Southerners,  upon  his  knees  in  prayer  at  Val¬ 
ley  Forge  ;  when  I  think  of  Stonewall  Jackson  praying  before  he  fought ; 
of  Robert  Lee’s  and  Sidney  Johnston’s  stainless  shields  ;  when  I  remember 
Sheridan’s  ride,  and  Sherman’s  march  to  the  sea  with  the  boys  in  blue  be¬ 
hind  him,  and  Grant  fighting  the  battle  out  and  on  to  the  glorious  triumph 
of  our  Northern  arms,  then  my  heart  prophesies  with  all  a  patriot’s  grati¬ 
tude,  America  will  win  in  her  bloodless  war  against  the  awful  tyranny  of 
King  Alcohol  and  King  Gambrinus,  and  proud  am  I  to  have  a  part  in  it,  for, 
thank  God,  “  I — I,  too,  am  an  American.” 

Bound  together  by  our  mutual  faith  in  Mary  T.  Lathrap,  of  Michigan 
and  Sallie  F.  Chapin,  of  South  Carolina;  cemented  by  the  martyr  blood  of 
Iowa’s  George  B.  Haddock  and  Mississippi’s  Roderick  Dhu  Gambrell ;  made 
one  by  the  pride  we  feel  in  these  grand  old  pioneers,  John  Russell,  the 
father  of  our  party  ;  James  Black,  its  earliest  presidential  candidate  ;  Gideon 
T.  Stewart  and  H.  W.  Thompson,  St.  John  and  Daniels,  the  heroes  of  a 
later  day  and  a  more  dreadful  crisis  ;  Green  Clay  Smith  and  Samuel  Dickie, 
Hopkins  and  Brooks,  Clinton  B.  Fisk  and  George  W.  Bain,  and  glorious  old 
Neal  Dow,  the  father  of  prohibition  for  the  world,  surely  temperance  people 
of  the  North  and  South  may  well  say  each  to  other,  “Whither  thou  goest  I 
will  go  ;  where  thou  lodgest,  I  will  lodge :  thy  people  shall  be  my  people, 
and  thy  God  my  God.  The  Lord  do  so  to  me,  and  more,  also,  if  aught  but 
death  part  thee  and  me.” 

Here,  upon  Indiana’s  genial  soil,  midway  between  the  sections  that  shall 
erelong  be  sections  no  more,  but  part  of  the  greatest  party’s  family  circle, 
gracious  and  great,  let  us  say  unitedly  to  the  fire-eaters  of  the  South  on  the 
one  side  and  the  chasm-diggers  of  the  North  on  the  other  : 

“  Oh,  meaner  folks  of  narrower  souls, 

Heirs  of  ignoble  thought, 

Stir  not  the  camp-fire’s  blackened  coals, 

Blood-drenched  by  those  who  fought, 

Lest  out  of  Heaven  a  fire  shall  yet 
Bear  God’s  own  vengeance  forth 
On  those  who  once  again  would  set 
Discord  ’twixt  South  and  North.” 

In  the  spring  of  1863,  two  great  armies  were  encamped  on  either  side  of 
the  Rappahannock  river,  one  dressed  in  blue  and  one  in  gray. 

As  twilight  fell,  the  bands  of  music  on  the  Union  side  began  to  play  the 
martial  strains,  “Star-Spangled  Banner”  and  “Rally  ’Round  the  Flag,” 
and  this  musical  challenge  was  taken  up  by  those  on  the  other  side,  who 
responded  with  the  “  Bonnie  Blue  Flag  ”  and  “  Away  Down  South  in  Dixie.” 
But  after  awhile  it  was  borne  in  upon  the  soul  of  a  single  soldier  in  one  of 
those  bands  of  music  to  begin  a  sweeter  and  more  tender  air,  and  slowly  as 
he  played  it,  they  joined  with  all  the  instruments  on  the  Union  side,  until 
finally  a  great  and  mighty  chorus  swelled  up  and  down  our  army,  “Home, 
Sweet  Home.”  When  they  had  finished  there  wras  no  challenge  over  yon¬ 
der,  and  every  Confederate  band  had  taken  up  that  lovely  air,  so  attuned  to 


452 


The  White  Rose. 


all  that  is  holiest  and  dearest,  and  one  great  chorus  of  the  two  great  hosts 
went  up  to  God  ;  and  when  they  had  finished  came  from  the  boys  in  gray  a 
challenge,  “Three  cheers  for  home,”  and  as  these  cheers  went  resounding 
through  the  skies  from  both  sides  of  the  river  “something  upon  the  sol¬ 
dier’s  cheek  washed  off  the  stain  of  powder.” 

Fellow  soldiers  in  the  fight  for  a  clear  brain,  I  am  proud  to  belong  to  an 
army  which  makes  kindred  of  those  who  once  stood  in  arms  against  each 
other.  Let  us  cherish  North  Carolina’s  motto  from  Isaiah’s  words  :  “  Fear 
not,  I  am  with  thee  ;  I  will  bring  thy  seed  from  the  east  and  gather  them 
from  the  west  ;  I  will  say  to  the  North,  give  up ,  and  to  the  South,  keep  not 
back;  bring  my  sons  from  afar,  and  my  daughters  from  the  ends  of  the 
earth.  ’  ’  I  am  glad  of  these  good  times,  and  I  think  we  women  are  in  them, 
equal  members  of  the  greatest  party,  as  we  have  been  since  the  day  of  its  birth. 

“  It  shall  shine  more  and  more 

Till  its  glory  like  noontide  shall  be. 

It  shall  shine  more  and  more 

Till  the  home  from  the  dram-shop  is  free. 

It  shall  shine  more  and  more 
Till  the  nation  Christ’s  glory  shall  see.” 

While  the  Democratic  National  Convention  was  in  session  at 
St.  Eouis  in  1888,  the  papers  had  much  to  say  of  the  Thurman 
bandana  and  the  red,  red  rose,  as  the  symbol  of  simon-pure  Democ¬ 
racy.  I  had  also  noted  the  primrose  as  the  emblem  of  the 
Conservative  women  of  England,  and  it  occurred  to  me  that  our 
Prohibitionists  ought  to  have  a  floral  badge.  What  then  more 
beautiful  than  the  white  rose  to  match  the  white  ribbon  ?  So  I 
telephoned  the  suggestion  to  The  Union  Signal ,  wrote  about  it  to 
our  leaders,  who  officially  indorsed  it,  and  when  our  committee 
appointed  to  notify  General  Fisk  of  his  nomination,  assembled  for 
that  purpose  in  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House,  New  York,  June  22, 
1888,  I  asked  my  faithful  friend,  Mrs.  Frances  J.  Barnes,  of  that 
city,  to  see  that  those  who  sat  on  the  platform  were  all  provided 
with  white  roses.  This  she  did.  The  suggestion  was  cordially 
adopted  by  the  gentlemen,  who  were  present  in  larger  number  than 
the  ladies,  and  I  had  the  honor  of  fastening  a  white  rose  to  the 
lapel  of  our  newly-created  Bishop  Fitzgerald  of  my  own  church, 
a  devoted  party  Prohibitionist,  who  made  the  opening  prayer  on 
this  occasion.  A  celluloid  rose  was  brought  out  by  our  Woman’s 
Temperance  Publication  Association,  in  Chicago,  and  has  been 
sold  by  tens  of  thousands,  so  that  we  may  conclude  the  white  rose 
is  acclimated  as  the  political  badge  of  those  who  would  overthrow 
the  dram-shop  and  protect  the  home. 


High- License  is  the  Trojan  Horse. 


453 


So  far  as  I  know,  my  advocacy  of  the  Prohibition  party  has 
not  personally  alienated  a  friend,  though  it  has  seriously  inter¬ 
fered  with  what  friends  called  a  “  rising  popularity,”  and  has 
grieved  and  wounded  many  who  are  dear  to  me  and  who  as  hon¬ 
estly  believe  that  I  am  wrong  in  my  working  hypothesis  of 
prohibition  as  I  believe  that  they  are  wrong  in  theirs.  How 
good  people  can  be  so  deceived  by  high-license  as  to  see  in  it 
anything  other  than  the  Trojan  horse  smuggled  into  our  tem¬ 
perance  camp  on  false  pretenses,  I  expect  to  discover  on  the  day 
when  I  learn  how  you  can  elect  prohibitionists  to  power  by  not 
voting  for  them.  To  me,  high-license  is  the  devil’s  counterfeit 
for  the  pure  gold  of  prohibition.  And  thus  believing,  I  have,  in 
every  state  and  territory  of  the  Republic,  declared  high-license  a 
high  crime,  and  in  the  name  of  boyhood  bewildered  and  man¬ 
hood  betrayed,  in  the  name  of  woman  broken-hearted  and  home 
broken  down,  I  have  solemnly  pronounced  upon  it  the  anathema 
of  the  American  home.  This  was  not  what  one  would  have 
chosen  to  say  who  well  knew  that  but  for  Christian  people  high- 
license  could  never  have  been  for  a  moment  tolerated  by  the 
reputable  class,  who  knew  that  Christian  ministers  all  over  the 
land  were  voting  for  it  and  that  some  of  them  were  discounting 
the  speaker’s  wits  even  while  she  tried  to  talk  ! 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THE  NEW  YORK  CONVENTION. 

(1888). 

The  New  York  Convention  caused  more  comment  than  all 
the  others  put  together.  Held  in  the  great  metropolis,  in  one  of 
the  five  largest  audience  rooms  of  the  world  ;  on  the  eve  of  a 
Presidential  election  and  in  the  most,  doubtful  and  determinative 
of  Commonwealths  ;  attended  by  four  hundred  and  twelve  elected 
delegates  from  almost  every  state  and  territory  ;  filling  five  days  ; 
with  a  printed  program  containing  fourteen  pages  and  one 
hundred  and  eighty-two  specifications,  with  forty  departments  of 
work  passing  in  review,  over  fifty  officers  to  be  elected,  a  dozen 
memorials  and  counter-memorials  to  be  replied  to  ;  with  dress 
reform  and  cooking  lectures,  sermons,  flag  presentations,  intro¬ 
ductions,  welcomes,  White  Ribbon  Quartette,  and  a  great  deal 
besides,  and  all  listened  to  by  an  audience  five  thousand  strong, 
the  great  convention  was  not  inaptly  described  by  one  who  said 
it  was  a  “Moral  Jumbo.”  Its  reports  and  addresses  were  highly 
complimented  by  onlookers  during  its  progress,  and  I  was  many 
times  made  to  wonder  anew  if  the  wrath  of  man  is  not  going  to 
be  made  to  praise  the  Lord  on  this  wise  :  while  our  brothers 
handicap  themselves  with  the  alcohol  and  tobacco  habits,  we 
women,  like  the  tortoise  outdoing  the  hare,  will  pass,  or,  at 
least,  overtake  them,  on  the  splendid  highway  of  intellectual 
evolution.  Woman’s  capacity  at  branching  out  was  here 
abundantly  illustrated  ;  in  proof,  note  the  daring  of  Mrs.  Mary 
T.  Burt,  who  engaged  the  costly  Metropolitan  Opera  House 
and  served  a  free  lunch  every  day  to  the  entire  convention, 
paying  the  expenses  by  sales  of  opera  boxes  and  seats  ;  note  the 
enterprise  of  Mrs.  Dr.  Buchanan,  walking  New  York  streets  to 
seek  entertainment  for  the  throng,  and  succeeding  where  mission- 

(454) 


A  Brilliant  Scene. 


455 


ary  and  other  women’s  societies  had  well-nigh  failed  in  Gotham, 
because  the  quiet  little  Scotch  Presbyterian  woman  acted  on  a 
Scotch  motto,  that  she  perhaps  has  never  heard,  “  It’s  dogged  as 
does  it.”  When  I^knew  that  we  four  (disavowed)  but  duly  ac¬ 
credited  women  delegates  to  General  Conference  were  not  invited 
to  Methodist  homes  in  the  metropolis,  I  supposed  it  was  because 
they  were  “too  far  back,” — as  we  in  the  West  say  of  conserva¬ 
tives — but  when  I  heard  one  of  the  most  noted  and  conservative 
Methodist  women  in  the  nation  mention  that  she  was  never  yet 
invited  to  a  Methodist  home  in  New  York  City,  I  had  my 
thoughts.  Suffice  it  that  at  our  convention,  all  received  entertain¬ 
ment  who  wished  for  it,  the  expenses  of  our  secretaries  and  treas¬ 
urer  being  paid  by  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  at  hotels  near  by. 

An  elegant  reception  was  given  us  by  Madame  Demorest,  at 
which  we  met  Clara  Barton,  Jennie  June  (Mrs.  Croly),  and  other 
noted  leaders  in  the  world  of  to-day.  The  courage  of  Madame 
Demorest  in  assuming  all  expenses  of  the  decorations  was  in 
keeping  with  her  enterprising  spirit,  and  last,  but  not  least,  the 
courage  of  the  general  officers  in  taking  the  convention  to  New 
York  when  almost  no  white  ribboner  save  the  state  president  gave 
them  hope  of  its  success,  deserves  to  go  on  record. 

Promptly  at  nine  o’clock  on  the  opening  morning,  Mrs.  S.  M.  I. 
Henry,  of  Illinois,  began  the  prayer-meeting,  and  at  ten  the  con¬ 
vention  came  to  order,  with  Anna  Gordon’s  bannerets  flying 
at  the  mast-head,  so  to  speak,  of  every  delegation,  the  platform 
brilliant  with  white  ribbon  ensigns,  national  and  state,  the  whole 
great  auditorium  decked  with  the  red,  white  and  blue,  mingled 
with  the  escutcheons  of  every  Commonwealth,  and  before  us,  in 
that  huge  parquette,  four  hundred  women  with  white  ribbons  on 
their  breasts,  while  from  floor  to  dome  the  place  was  packed  with 
people,  and  the  famous  temple  of  Art  had  become  for  the  time 
being  a  famous  temple  of  Temperance.  In  fourteen  years  the 
Hillsboro  praying  band  had  gathered  around  it  in  this  country 
a  direct  following  of  men,  women  and  children,  amounting  to  not 
less  than  half  a  million,  and  its  publishing  house  had  sent  out 
in  this  year  more  than  sixty  million  pages,  or  one  for  every  inhab¬ 
itant  of  the  United  States. 

“What  hath  God  wrought?”  must  have  been  the  grateful 


456 


Those  ‘  ‘  Protests.  ’  * 


exclamation  in  every  mind,  as  the  Crusade  leader,  our  beloved 
Mrs.  Judge  Thompson,  of  Hillsboro,  Ohio,  the  fragile-looking, 
sweet-voiced  old  lady,  stood  by  my  side,  the  Convention  rose,  and 
from  the  big  Hillsboro  Bible,  loaned  us  for  the  purpose  by  the 
Presbyterian  Church  there,  we  read  responsively  the  Crusade 
Psalm.  Then  all  voices  joined  in  singing  the  Crusade  Hymn, 
“  Give  to  the  winds  thy  fears,”  the  White  Ribbon  Quartette  from 
Maine  leading,  with  their  golden  cornets,  and  Mrs.  Barker,  of 
Dakota,  led  us  in  prayer.  The  Executive  Committee  had  been 
in  session  for  two  days,  also  the  Board  of  Superintendents,  and  the 
report  of  the  former  was  read  and  accepted. 

It  was  perfectly  well  known  that  the  Iowa  W.  C.  T.  U.  had 
a  memorial  protest  to  present  in  opposition  to  the  attitude  of 
friendliness  toward  the  Prohibition  party,  maintained  since  1882 
by  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  This  state  had  from  the  first 
led  the  protesting  minority  and  now  presented  a  protest  in  its 
own  name.  Of  its  nature  all  were  well  informed,  for  it  had 
been  given  to  the  public  by  the  Republican  press  of  the  country 
and  had  become,  virtually,  a  campaign  document.  Its  general 
terms  were  the  same  as  those  of  the  protests  written  by  Mrs.  Booster 
for  the  minority  at  Philadelphia,  Minneapolis  and  Nashville. 
vStrict  constructionists  claimed  that  this  memorial  should  not  have 
been  given  to  the  public  until  presented  to  the  convention,  and  the 
hypocritical  statements  of  the  Republican  press  to  the  effect  that 
the  convention  “smothered  ”  what  the  said  press  had  for  weeks 
industriously  circulated  from  Maine  to  California,  wTere,  to  say  the 
least,  eminently  characteristic  of  its  policy  through  the  entire 
campaign  of  1888. 

The  Illinois  W.  C.  T.  U.  also  had  a  “  protest,”  but  theirs  had 
not  seen  the  light.  They  had  very  properly  kept  it  for  the  tribu¬ 
nal  to  which  it  was  addressed.  This  protest  called  in  question 
the  wisdom  of  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  in  permitting  its  mem¬ 
bers  publicly  to  antagonize  the  Prohibition  party,  to  which  it  had 
promised  to  “  lend  its  influence.”  While  no  attempt  was  to  be 
made  to  control  the  personal  opinions  of  members,  this  protest 
held  that  they  should  not  be  at  liberty  publicly  to  antagonize 
the  action  of  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  As  Mrs.  Foster  was  the 
only  one  v7ho  had  conspicuously  done  this,  the  memorial  seemed 
to  be  aimed  at  her.  Besides  this  memorial,  there  were  four  from 


0cSfluijkers  itac^l 
i  e  sils 

^'pfo tedi®|ter  | 


'rrwtti 


wmm  f  flORMHi 

.  -  •  ■"  -  :  -->  ^ 

LV6\nsro]Sl^ 

Hr1 

ae^ncej 

*/8i  Vr’ ^ W 

&- — : 'mm~  j  ojifl 
ifl  '  .  A  . 

pi 

Bk 

,}.$*  /A  lljg&tt 

.  . 

•V. 

it  .  - .•]---'-  .•^‘tfitruij 

mk 

fe  ' 

^ ■^5?^!pT 

Not  a  ‘  ‘  Star  Chamber  ’  ’  Clique. 


457 


the  minority  in  Iowa  who  disagreed  with  Mrs.  Foster’s  views,  in 
which  they  asked  the  help  of  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.,  declaring 
that  the  parliamentary  machinery  of  the  State  W.  C.  T.  U.  was 
being  used  to  rule  them  out ;  that  on  purely  partisan  grounds 
they  were  deprived  of  representation  ;  that  the  literature  of  the 
National  W.  C.  T.  U.  was  not  permitted  to  be  circulated,  and 
that  they  could  not  hold  their  own  unless  assistance  was  soon 
furnished  them,  and  one  of  the  protests  distinctly  called  for  the 
discontinuance  of  Mrs.  Foster  as  a  vice-president  of  the  national 
society,  because  of  her  antagonistic  attitude  toward  the  W.  C.  T.  U. 

In  view  of  all  these  facts,  it  was  thought  best  by  certain  of  the 
leaders,  that  these  memorials  should  not  be  read  in  the  National 
Convention  until  first  considered  by  the  Executive  Committee, 
which,  so  far  from  being  a  “  Star  Chamber,”  as  some  of  our  “  non¬ 
partisan  ”  sisters  have  called  it,  is  made  up  of  the  presidents  of  all 
the  states  and  territories,  and  the  District  of  Columbia,  or  forty- 
eight  women,  representing  every  section  of  the  country,  besides  the 
five  general  officers  of  the  society.  Several  of  these  protests  were 
addressed  to  the  Executive  Committee,  and  were  already  in  our 
hands,  but  it  was  felt  by  some  that  by  having  all  of  them  so  re¬ 
ferred,  the  whole  subject  could  be  more  temperately  and  fairly 
passed  in  review  than  if  it  were  launched  without  such  preliminary 
consideration  upon  the  surging  waves  of  the  great  convention. 
Besides,  by  this  method,  the  program  could  first  be  gone 
through,  giving  to  the  public  an  adequate  idea  of  our  many-sided 
work,  and  forestalling  the  false  impression  already  created  by 
the  Republican  press,  that  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  was  simply 
a  “political  annex”  to  the  Prohibition  party.  Hence,  the 
motion  of  Mrs.  Henrietta  Monroe,  president  of  the  Ohio  W.  C. 
T.  U.,  that  “  memorials  and  protests  be  referred  to  the  Executive 
Committee  without  reading.”  In  the  handling  of  this  motiqn 
there  wTas  no  possible  motive  for  doing  any  one  injustice,  and 
none  whatever  was  intended  by  the  presiding  officer. 

The  largest  vote  mustered  by  the  minority  was  thirty -one  ; 
the  convention  was  heartily  in  favor  of  the  motion  to  refer,  and  it 
promptly  prevailed.  These  are  the  facts  concerning  an  action  rel¬ 
ative  to  which  the  misapprehensions — to  call  them  by  no  harsher 
name — of  a  partisan  press  have  been  more  widely  circulated 
than  has  anything  helpful  to  our  movement,  since  the  Crusade. 


45&  The  Ecclesiastical  Emancipation  of  Woman. 

If  we  could  have  had  the  same  use  of  Republican  newspapers 
for  an  argument  exhibiting  the  falseness  of  their  high-license 
theory,  constitutional  prohibition  would  have  received  the  great¬ 
est  ‘  ‘  boom  ’  ’  in  all  its  history. 

The  memorial  breeze  having  blown  over,  the  convention 
held  itself  steadily  to  its  work.  Under  the  heads  of  Preventive, 
Educational,  Evangelistic,  Social,  and  Eegal,  we  had,  with  the 
Department  of  Organization,  and  including  Sunday  afternoon, 
which  was  devoted  to  the  Department  of  Social  Purity,  three 
days  filled  with  the  reports  of  forty  leaders,  earnest,  intelligent 
women  of  the  church,  the  home,  and  school,  who  came  forward 
and  without  manuscript,  compressed  into  a  few  minutes  of 
always  attractive  and  often  eloquent  speech,  the  steadfast  work 
of  a  year. 

Our  annual  sermon  was  preached,  as  usual,  by  a  woman, 
Miss  Elizabeth  Greenwood,  of  Brooklyn,  whose  perfect  equipoise 
in  the  pulpit,  breadth  of  thought,  elegance  of  diction,  and  deep 
spirituality,  place  her  in  the  front  rank  of  pulpit  orators.  She 
was  chosen  national  superintendent  of  our  Evangelistic  Depart¬ 
ment,  and  with  Dean  Wright,  of  Cambridge,  is  working  to  place 
it  on  a  basis  of  real  Christian  scholarship. 

Bishop  Fallows  gave  us  a  remarkable  sermon  on  “The  Ec¬ 
clesiastical  Emancipation  of  Woman,”  choosing  his  text,  as  did 
Miss  Greenwood,  from  the  Crusade  Bible,  which  lay  on  the  table 
throughout  the  convention,  and  was  a  constant  comfort  and 
inspiration  to  us  all. 

It  seemed  like  that  rarest  thing  on  earth,  poetic  justice,  to 
hear  a  woman  preach  and  a  Bishop  declare  that  women  ought  to 
be  freely  permitted  so  to  do,  on  the  same  platform  where,  but  a 
few  months  before,  women  had  been  ruled  out  of  a  great  ecclesi¬ 
astical  convention.  And  when  Rev.  Dr.  J.  M.  Buckley,  woman’s 
redoubtable  opponent  in  her  broader  fields  and  pastures  new,  was 
introduced,  and- handsomely  received  by  the  white  ribboners,  the 
amenities  of  civilization  could  no  farther  go. 

General  Neal  Dow  came,  by  my  urgent  request,  glorious  old 
man,  erect  and  vigorous  in  his  eighty-sixth  year,  wearing  his 
frosty,  but  kindly  age  like  an  imperial  crown.  I  wanted  our 
blessed  white  ribboners  to  have  the  joy  of  seeing  the  immortal 
“Father  of  Prohibition.”  And  Governor  St.  John  was  there, 


Distinguished  Guests. 


459 


the  hero  of  journalistic  abuse,  on  which  he  has  grown  constantly 
more  gentle-hearted  and  beloved.  Whenever  he  appeared  the 
women’s  handkerchiefs  were  in  the  air.  Gen.  Clinton  B.  Fisk 
is  a  great  favorite,  personally,  being  one  of  the  most  genial  and 
gifted  of  men,  while  as  “  our  candidate  ”  he  carried  off  the  white 
ribbon  honors.  Joseph  Cook,  that  oratorical  cyclone,  swept  all 
away  vhth  him  in  his  magnificent  enthusiasm  for  “whatsoever 
things  are  pure,  lovely,  and  of  good  report.”  Gentle  Clara  Bar¬ 
ton  was  received  as  a  grand  elder  sister  might  have  been  ;  Mary 
A.  Livermore,  with  the  love  we  give  our  very  own. 

Chairman  Dickie,  on  being  introduced,  suggested  playfully 
that  the  convention  indorse  the  action  that  had  just  occurred,  by 
which  I  was  made  a  counseling  member  of  the  Executive  Com¬ 
mittee  of  the  Prohibition  party,  and  this  was  done,  in  my  absence, 
in  our  own  Executive  meeting,  in  the  same  vein,  as  I  supposed, 
until  the  hostile  press  made  much  of  it.  Mayor  Abram  S.  Hewitt 
gave  us  an  address  of  welcome  in  the  midst  of  his  candidacy  for 
re-election,  quite  in  line  with  his  well  known  reputation  for  mental 
shrewdness  and  square  dealing.  Elizabeth  Thompson,  the  phi¬ 
lanthropist,  presented  us,  not  in  person,  but  through  the  happy 
intervention  of  Rev.  Anna  Shaw,  with  a  “woman’s  flag,”  bor¬ 
dered  with  the  flags  of  all  nations,  and  symbolic  of  that  interna¬ 
tional  peace  for  which  she  works  so  earnestly  and  well.  Madame 
Demorest  had  a  reception  in  our  honor,  as  elegant  as  New  York’s 
luxurious  facilities  could  furnish,  and  this  enumeration  but  hints 
at  the  handsome  pageant  of  our  fifteenth  convention. 

On  the  last  afternoon  came  the  report  of  the  Committee  on 
Resolutions,  Mrs.  Governor  Wallace,  chairman,  Miss  Helen  L. 
Hood,  secretary.  For  two  years  this  report  had  been  printed  be¬ 
forehand,  as  nearly  all  our  documents  are,  for  the  convenience  of 
delegates,  and  in  both  cases  unfortunate  misapprehensions  have 
resulted  from  the  reporters’  not  unnatural  supposition  that  all 
that  was  printed  was  indorsed.  The  following  resolution  adopted 
from  that  of  Rhode  Island  W.  C.  T.  U.  was  passed  with  no 
dissent  except  from  Iowa,  a  part  of  Pennsylvania,  and  a  few 
other  scattering  votes : 

Resolved ,  That  we  re-affirm  our  allegiance  to  that  party  which  makes  its 
dominant  issue  the  suppression  of  the  liquor  traffic,  declares  its  belief  in 
Almighty  God  as  the  source  of  all  power  in  Government,  defends  the  sane- 


460 


A  Gag-law  that  Did  ri  t  Gag. 


tity  of  the  Christian  Sabbath,  recognizes  equal  suffrage  and  equal  wages  for 
women,  demands  the  abolition  of  polygamy  and  uniform  laws  governing 
marriage  and  divorce,  and  aims  to  remove  sectional  differences,  promote 
national  unity,  and  insure  the  best  welfare  of  our  land. 

Woman’s  ballot  was  thus  dealt  with  : 

Resolved ,  That  the  right  of  citizens  to  vote  should  not  be  abridged  or 
denied  on  account  of  sex  ;  we  therefore  urge  an  amendment  to  the  National 
Constitution  granting  women  the  franchise. 

Another  resolution  read  as  follows  : 

“  Whereas,  Individual  membership  in  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  has  never  been, 
and  is  not  based  upon  the  holding  of  certain  political  views  ;  and  whereas, 
the  individual  member  is  accorded  perfect  freedom  of  private  opinion  and 
private  utterance  of  the  same,  we  nevertheless  recognize  the  fact,  that  the 
action  of  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  in  promising  “to  lend  its  influence  to 
that  party,  by  whatever  name  called,  which  would  give  the  best  embodiment 
of  Prohibition  principles,  and  would  most  surely  protect  the  home,”  gives  to 
our  organization  a  policy  which  each  member  is  in  honor  bound  to  respect. 

Resolved ,  That  it  is  the  sense  of  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  that  no  mem¬ 
ber  should  speak  from  the  public  platform  to  antagonize  our  policy  toward 
the  party  to  which  our  influence  is  pledged,  and  that  any  member  thus  an¬ 
tagonizing  our  policy  is  hereby  declared  disloyal  to  our  organization. 

When  this  was  read,  Mrs.  Benjamin,  our  superintendent  of 
Parliamentary  Usage,  to  whom  all  points  of  difference  under  that 
head  were  referred  throughout  the  convention,  said,  “  I  object.” 
The  chair  asked,  as  in  duty  bound,  “  Is  the  objection  sustained  ?  ” 
And  by  am  overwhelming  majority  this  was  done  ; — yet  it  went 
out  to  the  country  that  we  ‘  ‘  had  passed  a  gag-law  for  the  express 
purpose  of  persecuting  Mrs.  Foster.” 

The  general  course  of  The  Union  Signal  was  sustained,  as  it 
certainly  ought  to  have  been,  the  following  resolution  being 
adopted  : 

Resolved ,  That  we  extend  to  Mary  Allen  West,  the  able  editor  of  The 
Union  Signal,  our  hearty  thanks  for  the  manner  in  which  she  has  conducted 
our  national  organ,  and  that  we  hereby  indorse  the  position  she  has  taken 
in  the  exercise  of  editorial  prerogatives  on  the  political  as  well  as  any  other 
questions  which  concern  our  organization,  and  in  testimony  of  this  we  ex¬ 
press  our  appreciation  of  her  labors  and  our  determination  to  stand  by  her 
in  her  difficult  and  trying  position. 

George  W.  Bain,  the  orator-in-chief  of  the  American  tem¬ 
perance  movement,  was  introduced  amid  vociferous  applause  ; 
among  other  good  things  he  said  : 

Having  traveled  this  country  from  ocean  to  ocean,  and  from  the  Takes  to 


George  IV.  Barn's  Speech. 


461 


the  Gulf,  I  have  found  our  prisons  filled  with  men,  our  saloons  filled  with 
men,  and  the  school-houses,  or  rather  the  high  schools,  graduating  more 
girls  than  boys,  our  Sabbath  schools  and  churches  filled  with  women, — and 
I  believe  I  serve  my  country,  its  homes,  and  heaven,  when  I  pledge  myself 
that  I  will  henceforth  do  everything  in  my  power  to  bring  more  directly  to 
bear  upon  the  political  life  of  this  Republic,  the  virtuous,  intellectual 
offices  of  womanhood.  When  the  church  gets  into  trouble,  it  returns  at 
once  to  the  Preachers’  Aid  Society  of  women,  and  when  the  youth  of  this 
country  is  being  blocked  by  vices,  I  apprehend  it  won’t  be  very  long  till 
our  country  will  be  in  such  a  condition  that  it  will  have  to  turn  to  its 
womanhood  for  salvation. 

Every  action  of  the  New  York  convention  showed  a  liber¬ 
ality  of  spirit  for  which,  I  dare  assert,  no  parallel  can  be  found 
in  the  history  of  associated  effort  among  men  or  women. 

The  closing  hours  of  the  convention,  extending  to  midnight 
of  the  fourth  day,  were  occupied  with  the  consideration  of  the 
six  memorials  and  the  replies.  To  Iowa’s  objections  to  our  rec¬ 
ognition  of  the  Prohibition  party,  a  general  demurrer  was  entered, 
the  specific  points  involved  having  been  taken  up  when  they 
were  first  brought  forward  in  1885.  To  Illinois’  urgent  request 
that  women  who  antagonize  our  policy  should  be  declared  dis¬ 
loyal,  the  reply  was  that  to  do  this  would  be  out  of  harmony 
with  our  present  safety  and  past  policy.  To  the  Iowa  W.  C. 
T.  U.  minority  the  following,  among  other  messages,  was  sent : 

We  have  lameuted  with  you,  and  more  deeply  than  you  have  been 
aware,  the  hardships  you  have  suffered. 

But  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  makes  two  constitutional  requirements  of 
its  members — and  two  only ;  signing  the  pledge  of  total  abstinence,  and 
paying  annual  dues. 

It  has  always  fieen  with  us  a  cardinal  doctrine  that  each  state  should  be 
left  free  in  all  things  except  these. 

The  debate  was  spirited,  but  kindly,  and  at  midnight  the 
convention  rose,  the  members  stood  hand  in  hand  to  sing,  ‘  ‘  God 
be  with  you  till  wre  meet  again,”  our  beloved  “  Deborah  ”  Wal¬ 
lace  prayed,  Rev.  Dr.  C.  PI.  Payne  pronounced  the  benediction, 
and  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  Convention  of  1888  was  duly 
adjourned. 

Meanwhile,  our  publishing  interests  constantly  increase  in 
volume  ;  the  devotion  of  white  ribboners  grows  stronger  ;  the 
honest,  outspoken  position  of  the  society  in  saying  just  what  it 
means  and  being  really  a  coadjutor  of  the  Prohibition  party, 


462 


Department  Work. 


rather  than  an  ally  of  Republicanism,  but  professedly  “  non-parti¬ 
san,”  compels  respect,  and  we  move  forward  to  a  victory,  slow  but 
sure,  which  shall  bring  in  the  day  of  national  prohibition, 
woman’s  enfranchisement,  alcohol’s  downfall,  and  home’s  supreme 
dominion  in  America  and  over  all  the  world. 

But  that  any  considerable  advance  in  legislation  will  be 
achieved  by  the  party  whose  cause  we  have  espoused,  while  it 
retains  its  present  name,  I  for  one,  do  not  expect. 

While  we  maintain  the  “  courage  of  our  convictions,”  politi¬ 
cally,  our  other  departments  of  work  have  never  “called  a  halt.” 
At  the  Minneapolis  convention  in  1886,  at  Nashville  in  1887, 
and  at  New  York  in  1888,  our  official  organ  was  published  daily, 
with  a  stenographic  report  of  the  proceedings.  The  minutes  of 
our  St.  Louis  convention  (debates  are  never  reported)  covered 
two  hundred  and  sixty-three  pages  of  a  large  pamphlet ;  those 
of  Philadelphia,  three  hundred  and  ninety  ;  those  of  Minneapo¬ 
lis,  four  hundred  and  eleven  ;  of  Nashville,  four  hundred  and 
fifty-three.  Every  important  document  that  comes  before  the 
convention,  from  the  president’s  address  to  the  ballots,  is  in 
printed  form,  the  printed  program  covering  several  pages.  A 
large  book  would  be  required  to  furnish  even  an  outline  history 
of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  movement  by  means  of  which  the  children, 
from  primer  to  high-school  grade,  in  thirty-six  states  and  terri¬ 
tories,  are  now  studying  the  laws  of  health,  “with  special  refer¬ 
ence  to  the  effects  of  alcoholic  drinks  and  narcotics  upon  the 
human  system,”  this  study  being  required  by  law,  and  teachers 
being  obliged  to  pass  examination  therein,  before  securing  a 
certificate.  Not  fewer  than  ten  millions  of  names  have  been 
gathered  for  our  petitions  on  this  subject,  and  the  first  temper¬ 
ance  legislation  ever  granted  byi  Congress  was  in  this  interest. 
Still  the  good  work  goes  on,  and  will  go  on  until  every  state  is 
under  this  wholesome  law.  Meanwhile,  the  Sandwich  Islands, 
Australia  and  Japan  are  adopting  the  same  temperance  text-books 
indorsed  by  our  society.  I  hope  that  Mrs.  Mary  H.  Hunt,  of 
Boston,  superintendent  of  this  department,  may,  ere-long,  write 
the  thrilling  story  of  which  she  is  the  heroine  ;  also  that  Miss 
Lucia  Kimball,  whose  temperance  work  in  Sunday-schools  has 
culminated  in  the  Quarterly  Lesson  now  provided  in  the  Interna¬ 
tional  Lesson  Series,  may  tell  how  that  mighty  field  was  won. 


The  Bible  in  the  Public  Schools. 


463 


From  my  annual  address  at  the  New  York  Convention,  I 
select  the  following  as  touching  on  advanced  phases  of  our  work  : 

The  new  movement  for  the  study  of  the  Bible,  as  the  finest  of  English 
classics,  introducing  it  into  colleges  and  seminaries  of  the  highest  grade,  is 
full  of  possibilities  for  Christian  progress  and  development.  The  marvel  is 
that  Christian  scholars  should  ever  have  permitted  the  heathen  classics  to 
outrank  the  psalms  of  David,  the  visions  of  Isaiah,  and  the  wonderful  phi¬ 
losophy  of  the  four  Gospels.  But  something  else  needs  to  be  done  on  the 
same  line,  and  must  become  universal  before  we  can  fairly  call  ourselves 
other  than  a  practically  pagan  republic.  This  is  the  teaching  of  those  prin¬ 
ciples  of  ethics  that  are  found  in  the  Scriptures  and  questioned  by  no  sane 
mind,  whether  Jew  or  Gentile,  Catholic  or  Protestant.  No  general  move¬ 
ment  toward  making  our  great  public  school  system  an  ethical  system  has 
yet  been  inaugurated,  except  by  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union, 
and  this  kingdom  of  heaven  has  come  to  the  children  of  the  land,  as  its 
wont  is,  “not  by  observation,”  but  so  quietly  that  our  people  hardly  know 
the  good  thing  that  has  happened  to  them. 

The  effort  of  good  women  everywhere  should  be  to  secure  the  introduc¬ 
tion  of  a  text-book  of  right  living  ;  one  that  should  teach  the  reasons  for  the 
social  code  of  good  manners,  every  particular  of  which  is  based  on  the 
Golden  Rule,  and  those  refinements  of  behavior  which  involve  the  utmost 
kindness  to  the  animal  creation,  including  the  organization  of  Bands  of 
Mercy  in  all  our  public  schools.  All  this  is  sure  to  come,  and  that  right 
speedily,  as  a  consequence  of  the  awakened  interest  of  women  everywhere 
in  the  subject  of  education,  and  their  increasing  power  along  these  lines. 
The  time  will  come  when  it  will  be  told  as  a  relic  of  our  primitive  barbarism 
that  children  were  taught  the  list  of  prepositions  and  the  names  of  the 
rivers  of  Thibet,  but  were  not  taught  the  wonderful  laws  on  which  their 
own  bodily  happiness  is  based,  and  the  humanities  by  which  they  could  live 
in  peace  and  good  will  with  those  about  them.  The  time  will  come  when, 
whatever  we  do  not  teach,  we  shall  teach  ethics  as  the  foundation  of  every 
form  of  culture,  and  the  “faith  that  makes  faithful”  in  every  relation  of 
life  will  become  a  thing  of  knowledge  to  the  child  of  the  then  truly  Chris¬ 
tian  republic.  For  we  can  never  teach  these  things  and  leave  out  Christ  as 
the  central  figure,  and  His  philosophy  as  the  central  fact  of  our  system  of 
education.  At  the  same  time  our  teaching  must  be  as  far  removed  from 
anything  sectarian  or  involving  the  statement  of  a  creed,  as  the  North  Star 
is  from  the  Southern  Cross.  There  will  be  no  trouble  in  those  days  about 
opening  school  with  such  extracts  from  the  Bible  as  have  been  agreed  upon 
by  men  and  women  of  all  faiths,  and  the  repetition  of  the  Ford’s  Prayer 
with  its  universal  benignities  will  be  a  matter  of  course.  It  is  for  the 
Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  to  work  011  quietly  to  this  end,  with¬ 
out  haste,  without  rest. 

THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  EMANCIPATION  OF  WOMEN. 

By  a  strange  and  grievous  paradox,  the  Church  of  Christ,  although  first 
to  recognize  and  nurture  woman’s  spiritual  powers,  is  one  of  the  most  diffi- 


464 


Woman  in  the  Church . 


cult  centers  to  reach  with  the  sense  of  justice  toward  her,  under  the  improved 
conditions  of  her  present  development  and  opportunity.  The  sense  of  au¬ 
thority  is  here  so  strong,  and  woman’s  capacities  for  reverence  and  humility 
are  still  so  great,  that,  while  we  can  not  fail  to  deprecate,  we  need  not  won¬ 
der  at  the  present  situation.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  enlightened  womanhood 
will  come  with  the  magic  open  sesame  which  shall  ere-long  prevail  even 
against  these  gates  so  'sedulously  barred  :  Woman ,  like  man ,  should  be 
f  reely  permitted  to  do  whatever  she  can  do  well. 

Who  that  is  reasonable  doubts  that  if  we  had  in  every  church  a 
voice  in  all  its  circles  of  power,  it  would  be  better  for  the  church,  making  it 
more  homelike  and  attractive,  more  endeared  to  the  people,  and  hence  more 
effective  in  its  great  mission  of  brotherly  and  .sisterly  love  ?  By  what  right¬ 
eous  principle  of  law  or  logic  are  we  excluded  from  church  councils  when 
we  so  largely  make  up  the  church’s  membership  ?  Who  that  did  not  know 
it  beforehand  would  believe  that  good  men  actually  desire  to  keep  us  out? 
Antecedently  I  would  have  made  my  affidavit  that  nothing  could  have 
pleased  them  so  much  as  to  have  us  come  in  and  share  with  them  the 
power  and  honor,  as  we  do  the  burdens  and  responsibilities,  of  the  church 
home.  Indeed,  I  can  not  help  thinking  that  it  might  be  said  of  us,  “  O  fools, 
and  slow  of  heart  to  believe  all  that  the  prophets  have  spoken  !”  We  have 
not  ourselves  rightly  understood  the  liberty  wherewith  Christ  hath  made 
woman  free  by  introducing  a  religion  that  removes  the  world  from  a  war 
footing  to  a  peace  basis,  thus  rendering  science  possible,  with  invention  as 
its  consequence,  from  all  of  which  comes  a  civilization  having  as  its  choicest 
blossom  the  material  comforts  and  contrivances  of  the  modern  home.  We 
have  not  seen  that  old-time  duties  have  been  taken  from  our  hands  that  we 
might  enter  upon  higher  ones,  and  that  to  make  the  whole  world  homelike 
is  the  province  of  one  half  the  race.  But  as  these  truths  take  possession  of 
our  inmost  hearts  we  shall  go  gently  to  our  brothers,  asking  them  to  open 
to  us  every  opportunity  and  to  share  with  us  every  prerogative  within  the 
Church  of  Christ.  In  the  United  States,  the  generous  spirit  of  whose  man¬ 
hood  has  nowhere  been  excelled,  we  have  a  vantage-ground  in  any  effort  that 
may  be  quietly  and  unitedly  put  forth  for  the  opening  of  closed  doors,  eccle¬ 
siastical  or  otherwise.  I  have  long  thought  that  the  spectacle  of  well-nigh 
a  hundred  thousand  church  edifices  closed,  except  at  brief  intervals  when 
meetings  were  in  progress,  was  a  travesty  of  the  warm-hearted  gospel  of 
our  Lord,  and  I  rejoice  to  see  that  just  as  woman’s  influence  grows  stronger 
in  the  church,  those  doors  stay  open  longer,  that  industrial  schools,  Bands 
of  Hope,  church  kindergartens,  reading-rooms,  and  the  like,  may  open  up 
their  founts  of  healing,  and  put  “  a  light  in  the  window  for  thee,  brother.” 

The  time  wall  come  when  these  gates  of  Gospel  Grace  shall  stand  open 
night  and  day,  while  w'oman’s  heavenly  ministries  shall  find  their  central 
home  within  God’s  house,  the  natural  shrine  of  human  brotherhood  in 
action,  as  wrell  as  human  brotherhood  in  theory. 

“Stay  in  the  church  and  help  reform  it,”  says  one.  “  No,  that  is  impos¬ 
sible  ;  old  churches  and  old  parties  are  equally  crystallized,”  comes  the 
reply.  “  L,et  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  organize  a  church,  and  we  w’ill  join  it,  every 


W.  C.  T.  U.  Deaconesses . 


465 


man  of  us,”  is  the  declaration  of  an  influential  group  of  earnest  men.  “  No, 
we  have  too  many  churches  already,”  objects  a  listener,  “  let  the  wheat 
and  tares  grow  together  until  the  harvest.”  Meanwhile,  many  letters  and 
consultations  with  men  and  women  high  in  church  circles  develop  on  the 
part  of  some  a  plan  like  this  : 

An  organization  to  be  formed,  called  the  “  Church  Union,”  made  up  of 
those  who  are  unwilling  longer  to  leave  inoperative  the  protest  of  their  souls 
against  a  government  of  the  church  by  its  minority  ;  this  Church  Union  to 
be  open  to  any  and  all  who  will  subscribe  to  the  Apostles’  Creed,  and  the 
triple  pledge  of  total  abstinence,  anti-tobacco,  and  social  purity  ;  none  of 
the  members  obliged  to  leave  a  church  to  which  they  now  belong  in  order 
to  join  this ;  men  and  women  to  be  on  terms  of  perfect  equality,  and  women 
to  be  regularly  licensed  and  ordained.  The  special  work  of  this  Church  Union 
would  be  among  the  masses  of  the  people,  still,  alas,  so  generally  ungospeled, 
and  in  foreign  lands,  especially  among  the  women.  In  this  country,  build¬ 
ings  now  devoted  to  amusements  to  be  utilized  rather  than  new  ones  erected, 
and  everywhere  the  steadfast  effort  made  to  go,  not  send,  and  to  go  rather 
than  to  stay  at  home  and  say  “Come”  to  the  great  humanity  that  beats 
its  life  along  the  stony  streets. 

But  for  myself,  I  love  my  mother-church  so  well  and  recognize  so  thor¬ 
oughly  that  the  base  and  body  of  the  great  pyramid  she  forms  are  broader 
than  its  apex,  that  I  would  fain  give  her  a  little  time  in  which  to  deal  justly 
by  the  great  household  of  her  loving,  loyal,  and  devoted  daughters.  I 
would  wait  four  years  longer,  in  fervent  hope  and  prayer  that  the  great 
body  of  her  ministers  and  of  her  membership  may  make  it  manifest  to  all 
the  world  that  the  church  of  Uady  Huntington,  Barbara  Heck,  and  Phebe 
Palmer,  does  not  hesitate  to  march  with  the  progressive  age  it  has  done  so 
much  to  educate,  nor  fear  to  carry  to  their  logical  sequence  its  life-long 
teachings  as  to  woman’s  equality  within  the  house  of  God.  I  say  this 
frankly,  from  my  present  outlook,  though  so  often  urged,  and  not  a  little 
tempted,  and  sometimes  quite  determined  to  take  a  new  departure.  The 
time  will  come,  however,  and  not  many  years  from  now,  when,  if  repre¬ 
sentation  is  still  denied  us,  it  will  be  our  solemn  duty  to  raise  once  more 
the  cry,  “  Here  I  stand,  I  can  do  no  other,”  and  step  out  into  the  larger  lib¬ 
erty  of  a  religious  movement  where  majorities  and  not  minorities  shall 
determine  the  fitness  of  women  as  delegates,  and  where  the  laying  on  of 
hands  in  consecration,  as  was  undoubtedly  done  in  the  early  church,  shall 
be  decreed  on  a  basis  of  “gifts,  graces  and  usefulness, ”  irrespective  of  sex. 

W.  C.  T.  U.  DEACONESSES. 

I  wish  that  we  might  here  state  with  all  considerateness,  but  with  fear¬ 
less  honesty,  our  position  on  the  question  of  women  in  the  church.  But, 
as  I  have  already  said,  women  are,  if  possible,  even  more  to  blame  than 
men  that  they  are  so  discounted  in  church  as  well  as  state  at  this  late  day. 
A  majority  of  men  in  this  country  and  age  have  so  far  outgrown  the  igno¬ 
rant  notion  of  their  divine  right  to  rule  over  women,  that  if  we  had  but  the 
courage  of  conviction,  and  that  sense  of  dignity  that  ought  to  mark  us  as 


466 


True  Service. 


daughters  of  the  Lord  Almighty,  men  would  within  a  twelvemonth,  seat  us 
beside  themselves  upon  the  thrones  of  government  in  church  and  state, 
ruling  the  world  jointly,  as  He  meant  we  should,  when,  as  the  Bible  says, 
“He  gave  to  them  dominion.” 

Truly  we  have  what  we  take  the  most  pains  for,  and  women  must  be 
up  and  doing  if  they  expect  the  co-operation  and  fealty  of  men  in  politics, 
ecclesiastical  or  secular.  It  also  seems  to  me  we  should,  at  this  convention, 
provide  for  White  Ribbon  deaconesses  to  be  trained  in  our  Evangelistic 
Department,  taught  to  be  skilled  nurses  at  our  National  Temperance  Hos¬ 
pital,  and  employed  by  our  local  unions  in  preaching,  teaching  and  visiting 
the  sick  and  poor.  I  am  confident  that  there  are  men  of  the  best  standing 
in  the  pulpit,  who  will  not  hesitate  to  set  them  apart  to  this  sacred  office 
and  ministry  in  accordance  with  the  custom  of  the  early  church.  There 
are  thousands  of  women,  young  and  old,  whose  hearts  the  Lord  hath  touched 
and  who  would  rejoice  to  find  a  vocation  so  sacred  and  so  full  of  help 
within  the  sheltering  fold  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U. 

“She  spoke  of  justice,  truth  and  love, 

How  soft  her  words  distilled  ; 

She  spoke  of  God,  and  all  the  place 
Was  with  His  presence  filled.” 

Of  how  many  a  sweet  soul  within  our  borders  those  words  are  true  ? 
What  hindereth  that  they  be  set  apart  with  every  guarantee  and  safeguard 
that  can  emphasize  their  gospel  ministry?  Of  them  how  long  has  it  been 
said,  as  of  Christ's  early  servants,  “the  people  magnify  them,”  and  “the 
common  people  hear  them  gladly.” 

Rev.  Dr.  Black,  of  Mississippi,  says  in  his  new  book  : 

“The  offices  of  deaconesses  formed  a  part  of  the  machinery  of  the 
Church  for  many  centuries.  The  deaconess  received  ordination  by  the  im¬ 
position  of  hands.  The  ordination  ritual  is  given  in  the  Apostolical  Consti¬ 
tutions,  from  which  we  extract  the  following  prayer  of  the  officiating 
bishop : 

“  ‘Eternal  God,  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  Creator  of  man  and  of 
woman,  thou  who  didst  fill  with  thy  spirit  Miriam,  Deborah,  Hannah, 
and  Huldah,  thou  who  didst  vouchsafe  to  a  woman  the  birth  of  the  only 
begotten  Son,  thou  who  didst  in  the  tabernacle,  and  in  the  temple,  place 
female  keepers  of  thy  holy  gates,  look  down  now  also  upon  this  thy  hand¬ 
maid,  and  bestow  on  her  the  Holy  Ghost,  that  she  may  worthily  perform 
the  work  committed  to  her  to  thy  honor  and  the  glory  of  Christ.’  ” 

What  a  practical  element  the  deaconesses  would  introduce  into  relig¬ 
ion.  Doubtless,  in  early  days,  when  the  conflict  was  between  idolatry  and 
the  worship  of  God,  “divine  service”  may  have  rightly  consisted  largely 
in  sermon,  song,  and  prayer,  but  to  call  that  “service”  now,  as  is  univer¬ 
sally  done,  seems  to  me  a  mockery.  That  is  a  delight,  a  coveted  and 
blessed  means  of  growth  ;  but  “service  ”  now  is  to  our  fellow-men,  and  he 
whose  purse  and  work  are  not  invested  there  knows  nothing  about  “divine 
service,”  and  might  well  name  his  place  of  Sunday  lounging  and  aesthetics 
the  “Church  of  the  Divine  Emptiness,”  or  the  “Church  of  the  Celestial 
Sugar  Plum.” 


Other  Worldliness. 


467 


What  the  world  most  needs  is  mothering,  and  most  of  all  in  the  spirit’s 
natural  home,  the  church,  and  on  the  Sabbath  day.  It  needs  the  tender 
sweetness  of  the  alto  voice,  the  jubilant  good-will  of  the  soprano,  in  ser¬ 
mon  as  in  psalm  ;  tenor  and  bass  become  monotonous  at  last,  and  the  full 
diapason  of  power  and  inspiration  is  impossible  except  wTe  listen  to  the  full 
chorus  of  humanity.  God  hasten  that  great  chorus,  in  church  and  state 
alike,  with  its  deep-hearted  love  and  its  celestial  hope  ! 

*********** 

The  sine  qua  non  of  our  success  is  mutual  faith  and  fellowship.  We 
must  “  have  fervent  charity  among  ourselves.” 

It  is  not  uncharitable  to  judge  an  act  as  good  or  bad,  but  we  should  be 
very  slow  to  judge  the  actor  bad.  Only  by  rising  to  the  sublime  sense  of 
our  sacred  sisterhood  with  every  woman  that  breathes,  be  she  good  or  bad, 
foreign  or  native,  bond  or  free,  shall  we  find  our  individual  pettiness  covered 
and  flooded  out  of  sight  by  the  most  inexorable  force  of  all  the  universe, 
the  force  of  Love. 

If  I  could  have  my  wish  for  all  of  us,  it  would  be  that  in  our  measure 
we  might  merit  what  was  said  of  that  seraphic  woman,  Elizabeth  Barrett 
Browning.  It  is  an  ideal  that  we  shall  all  delight  to  share  : 

‘  ‘  Persons  were  never  her  theme,  unless  public  characters  were  under 
discussion,  or  friends  were  to  be  praised,  which  kind  office  she  frequently 
took  upon  herself.  One  never  dreamed  of  frivolities  in  her  presence, 
and  gossip  felt  itself  out  of  place.  Books  and  humanity,  great  deeds, 
and,  above  all,  politics,  which  include  all  the  grand  questions  of  the  day, 
were  foremost  in  her  thoughts,  and  therefore,  oftenest  on  her  lips.  I 
speak  not  of  religion,  for  with  her  everything  was  religion.  Her  Chris¬ 
tianity  was  not  confined  to  the  church  and  rubric  ;  it  meant  civilization.” 

Envy  and  jealousy  light  the  intensest  fires  that  ever  burn  in  human 
hearts  ;  gossip  and  scandal  are  the  smoke  emitted  by  them.  If,  as  has  been 
said,  these  passions  could,  like  some  modern  chimneys,  be  consumers  of 
their  own  smoke,  a  purer  and  a  better  atmosphere  would  then  prevail. 

In  all  the  battle  of  opinion  that  rages,  and  must  rage  until  a  better 
equilibrium  is  reached  in  this  great  nation,  be  it  ours,  beloved  sisters,  to 
remember  that  “when  either  side  grows  warm  in  argument,  the  wiser  man 
gives  over  first.” 

Good-breeding  has  been  called  “the  apotheosis  of  self-restraint.”  But 
the  higher  evolution  is  not  to  need  restraining,  but  to  have  that  inward 
quietness  which,  when  God  giveth  it,  “who  then  can  make  trouble?”  All 
strife  in  manner,  word  and  deed,  grows  out  of  worldliness,  and  to  this  there 
is  but  just  one  antidote,  and  that  is,  Other  Woredeiness. 

One  look  into  the  silent  heavens,  and  all  our  earthly  jargons  seem  un¬ 
worthy  ;  one  deep  tone  of  the  forest’s  mystical  aeolian,  and  our  deeper  hearts 
respond  in  tenderness  ;  one  solemn  strain  out  of  the  sea’s  unutterable  anthem, 
and  the  soul  hears  in  it  that  “something  greater”  that  speaks  to  the  heart 
alone. 

All  true  souls  know  that  this  is  true.  “Let  my  soul  calm  itself,  O 
God,  in  Thee,”  sings  the  stormy  spirit  of  St.  Augustine.  “Live  without 


468 


At  Rest. 


father  and  mother,  but  not  without  God,”  cries  Count  Tolstoi  from  Russia, 
that  center  of  the  world’s  unrest. 

“  We  should  fill  the  hours  with  the  sweetest  things, 

If  we  had  but  a  day. 

We  should  drink  alone  at  the  purest  springs, 

In  our  upward  way, 

We  should  love  with  a  life-time’s  love  in  an  hour 
If  the  hours  were  but  few,” 

are  the  sweet  lines  of  our  own  Mary  Lowe  Dickinson. 

And  these  are  the  words  of  a  great  but  unnamed  saint :  “The  strong¬ 
est  Christians  are  those  who,  from  daily  habit,  hasten  with  everything  to 
God.” 


METROPOLITAN  OPERA  HOUSE. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


AIMS  AND  METHODS  OF  THE  W.  C.  T.  U. 

Thus  have  I  tried  to  set  forth  the  sequel  of  that  modern 
Pentecost  called  the  “  Woman’s  Crusade.”  That  women  should 
thus  dare  was  the  wonder  after  they  had  so  long  endured,  while 
the  manner  of  their  doing  left  us  who  looked  on,  bewildered 
between  laughter  and  tears.  Woman-like,  they  took  their  knit¬ 
ting,  their  zephyr  wTork  or  their  embroidery,  and  simply  swarmed 
into  the  drink-shops,  seated  themselves,  and  watched  the  pro¬ 
ceedings.  Usually  they  came  in  a  long  procession  from  their 
rendezvous  at  some  church  where  they  had  held  morning  prayer¬ 
meeting  ;  entered  the  saloon  with  kind  faces,  and  the  sweet  songs 
of  church  and  home  upon  their  lips,  while  some  Madonna-like 
leader  with  the  Gospel  in  her  looks,  took  her  stand  beside  the 
bar,  and  gently  asked  if  she  might  read  God’s  word  and  offer 
prayer. 

Women  gave  of  their  best  during  the  two  months  of  that 
wonderful  uprising.  All  other  engagements  were  laid  aside  ; 
elegant  women  of  society  walked  beside  quiet  women  of  home, 
school  and  shop,  in  the  strange  processions  that  soon  lined  the 
chief  streets,  not  only  of  nearly  every  town  and  village  in  the 
state  that  was  its  birthplace,  but  of  leading  cities  there  and 
elsewhere  ;  and  voices  trained  in  Paris  and  Berlin  sang  “  Rock 
of  Ages,  cleft  forme,”  in  the  malodorous  air  of  liquor-rooms  and 
beer-halls.  Meanwhile,  where  were  the  men  who  patronized 
these  places  ?  Thousands  of  them  signed  the  pledge  these  women 
brought,  and  accepted  their  invitation  to  go  back  with  them  to 
the  churches,  whose  doors,  for  once,  stood  open  all  day  long; 
others  slunk  out  of  sight,  and  a  few  cursed  the  women  openly; 
but  even  of  these  it  might  be  said,  that  those  who  came  to  curse 
remained  to  pray.  Soon  the  saloon-keepers  surrendered  in  large 
numbers,  the  statement  being  made  by  a  well-known  observer  that 

(469) 


4?o 


Crusade  Annals . 


the  liquor  traffic  was  temporarily  driven  out  of  two  hundred  and 
fifty  towns  and  villages  in  Ohio  and  the  adjoining  states,  to 
which  the  Temperance  Crusade  extended.  There  are  photographs 
extant  representing  the  stirring  scenes  when,  amid  the  ringing  of 
church-bells,  the  contents  of  every  barrel,  cask  and  bottle  in  a 
saloon  were  sent  gurgling  into  the  gutter,  the  owner  insisting 
that  women’s  hands  alone  should  do  this  work,  perhaps  with 
some  dim  thought  in  his  muddled  head  of  the  poetic  justice  due 
to  the  Nemesis  he  thus  invoked.  And  so  it  came  about  that  soft 
and  often  jeweled  hands  grasped  axe  and  hammer,  while  the  whole 
town  assembled  to  rejoice  in  this  new  fashion  of  exorcising  the  evil 
spirits.  In  Cincinnati,  a  city  long  dominated  by  the  liquor  trade, 
a  procession  of  women,  including  the  wives  of  leading  pastors, 
was  arrested  and  locked  up  in  jail ;  in  Cleveland,  dogs  were  set 
on  the  crusaders,  and  in  a  single  instance,  a  blunderbuss  was 
pointed  at  them,  while  in  several  places,  they  were  smoked  out, 
or  had  the  hose  turned  on  them.  But  the  arrested  women 
marched  through  the  streets  singing,  and  held  a  temperance  meet¬ 
ing  in  the  prison  ;  the  one  assailed  b}^  dogs  laid  her  hands  upon 
their  heads  and  prayed ;  and  the  group  menaced  by  a  gun 
marched  up  to  its  mouth  singing,  ‘  ‘  Never  be  afraid  to  work  for 
Jesus.”  The  annals  of  heroism  have  few  pages  so  bright  as 
the  annals  of  that  strange  crusade,  spreading  as  if  by  magic, 
through  all  the  Northern  States,  across  the  sea  and  to  the  Orient 
itself.  Everywhere  it  went,  the  attendance  at  church  increased 
incalculably,  and  the  crime  record  was  in  like  manner  shortened. 
Men  say  there  was  a  spirit  in  the  air  such  as  they  never  knew 
before  ;  a  sense  of  God  and  of  human  brotherhood. 

But  after  fifty  days  or  more,  all  this  seemed  to  pass  away. 
The  women  could  not  keep  up  such  work  ;  it  took  them  too 
much  from  their  homes  ;  saloons  re-opened  ;  men  gathered  as 
before  behind  their  .sheltering  screens,  and  swore  “those  silly 
women  had  done  more  harm  than  good,”  while  with  ribald  words 
they  drank  the  health  of  “  the  defunct  crusade.” 

Perhaps  the  most  significant  outcome  of  this  movement  was 
the  knowledge  of  their  own  power  gained  by  the  conservative 
women  of  the  churches.  They  had  never  even  seen  a  “  woman’s 
rights  convention,”  and  had  been  held  aloof  from  the  “suffra¬ 
gists  ”  by  fears  as  to  their  orthodoxy  ;  but  now  there  were  women 


Women  are  “  Branckers-ozit” 


471 


prominent  in  all  church  cares  and  duties  eager  to  clasp  hands  for  a 
more  aggressive  work  than  such  women  had  ever  before  dreamed 
of  undertaking. 

Nothing  is  more  suggestive  in  all  the  national  gatherings  of 
the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union,  that  sober  second 
thought  of  the  crusade,  than  the  wide  difference  between  these 
meetings  and  any  held  by  men.  The  beauty  of  decoration  is 
specially  noticeable  ;  banners  of  silk,  satin  and  velvet,  usually 
made  by  the  women  themselves,  adorn  the  wall ;  the  handsome 
shields  of  states  ;  the  great  vases  bearing  aloft  grains,  fruits  and 
flowers  ;  the  moss-covered  well  with  its  old  bucket ;  or  the  setting 
of  a  platform  to  present  an  interior  as  cozy  and  delightful  as  a 
parlor  could  afford,  are  features  of  the  pleasant  scene.  The 
rapidity  of  movement  with  which  business  is  conducted,  the 
spontaneity  of  manner,  the  originality  of  plan,  the  perpetual 
freshness  and  ingenuity  of  the  convention,  its  thousand  unex¬ 
pectednesses,  its  quips  and  turns,  its  wit  and  pathos,  its  im¬ 
promptu  eloquence  and  its  perpetual  good  nature  —  all  these 
elements,  brought  into  condensed  view  in  the  National  Conven¬ 
tions,  are  an  object-lesson  of  the  new  force  and  unique  method 
that  womanhood  has  contributed  to  the  consideration  of  the  great¬ 
est  reform  in  Christendom.  It  is  really  the  crusade  over  again  ;  the 
home  going  forth  into  the  world.  Its  manner  is  not  that  of  the 
street,  the  court,  the  mart,  or  office  ;  it  is  the  manner  of  the  home. 
Men  take  one  line,  and  travel  onward  to  success  ;  with  them 
discursiveness  is  at  a  discount.  But  women  in  the  home  must  be 
mistresses,  as  well  as  maids  of  all  work  ;  they  have  learned  well 
the  lesson  of  unity  in  diversity ;  hence  by  inheritance  and 
by  environment,  women  are  varied  in  their  methods  ;  they  are 
born  to  be  “  branchers-out.”  Men  have  been  in  the  organized 
temperance  work  not  less  than  eighty  years — women  not  quite 
fifteen.  Men  pursued  it  at  first  along  the  line  of  temperance, 
then  total  abstinence  ;  license,  then  prohibition  ;  while  women 
have  already  over  forty  distinct  departments  of  work,  classified 
under  the  heads  of  preventive,  educational,  evangelistic,  social, 
and  legal.  Women  think  in  the  concrete.  The  crusade  showed 
them  the  drinking  man,  and  they  began  upon  him  directly,  to  get 
him  to  sign  the  pledge  and  seek  “  the  Lord  behind  the  pledge.” 
The  crusade  showed  them  the  selling  man,  and  they  prayed  over 


472 


Evolution . 


him  and  persuaded  him  to  give  up  his  bad  business,  often  buying 
him  out,  and  setting  him  up  in  the  better  occupation  of  baker, 
grocer,  or  keeper  of  the  reading-room  into  which  they  converted 
his  saloon  after  converting  him  from  the  error  of  his  ways. 

But  oftentimes  the  drinking  man  went  back  to  his  cups,  and 
the  selling  man  fell  from  his  grace  ;  the  first  one  declaring,  “I 
can’t  break  the  habit  I  formed  when  a  boy,”  and  the  last  aver¬ 
ring,  “  Somebody’s  bound  to  sell,  and  I  might  as  well  make  the 
profit.”  Upon  this  the  women,  still  with  their  concrete  ways  of 
thinking,  said,  “To  be  sure,  we  must  train  our  boys,  and  not 
ours  only,  but  everybody’s  ;  what  institution  reaches  all  ? — the 
Public  Schools.”  How  well  they  wrought,  under  the  leadership 
of  Mrs.  Mary  H.  Hunt,  has  been  told  on  earlier  pages. 

To  the  inane  excuse  of  the  seller  that  he  might  as  well  do  it 
since  somebody  would,  the  quick  and  practical  reply  was,  ‘  ‘  To 
be  sure  ;  but  suppose  the  people  could  be  persuaded  not  to  let 
anybody  sell  ?  why,  then  that  would  be  God’s  answer  to  our  cru¬ 
sade  prayers.”  So  they  began  with  petitions  to  municipalities, 
to  Legislatures  and  to  Congress,  laboriously  gathering  up,  doubt¬ 
less,  not  fewer  than  ten  million  names  in  the  great  aggregate, 
and  through  the  fourteen  years.  Thus  the  Woman’s  Chris¬ 
tian  Temperance  Union  stands  as  the  strongest  bulwark  of  pro¬ 
hibition,  state  and  national,  by  constitutional  amendment  and 
by  statute.  Meanwhile,  it  was  inevitable  that  their  motherly 
hearts  should  devise  other  methods  for  the  protection  of  their 
homes.  Knowing  the  terrors  and  the  blessings  of  inheritance, 
they  set  about  the  systematic  study  of  heredity,  founding  a  jour¬ 
nal  for  that  purpose.  Learning  the  relation  of  diet  to  the  drink 
habit,  they  arranged  to  study  hygiene  also  ;  desiring  children  to 
know  that  the  Bible  is  on  the  side  of  total  abstinence,  they 
induced  the  International  Sundaj^-school  Convention  to  prepare  a 
plan  for  lessons  on  this  .subject ;  perceiving  the  limitless  power 
of  the  Press,  they  did  their  best  to  subsidize  it  by  sending  out 
their  bulletins  of  temperance  facts  and  news  items,  thick  as  the 
leaves  of  Vallambrosa,  and  incorporated  a  publishing  company 
of  women. 

It  is  curious  to  watch  the  development  of  the  women  who  en¬ 
tered  the  saloons  in  1874  as  a  gentle,  well-dressed,  and  altogether 
peaceable  mob.  They  have  become  an  army,  drilled  and  disci- 


Organization. 


473 


plined.  They  have  a  method  of  organization,  the  simplest  yet 
the  most  substantial  known  to  temperance  annals.  It  is  the 
same  for. the  smallest  local  union  as  for  the  national  society 
with  its  ten  thousand  auxiliaries.  Committees  have  been  abol¬ 
ished,  except  the  executive,  made  up  of  the  general  officers,  and 
“  superintendencies  ’  ’  substituted,  making  each  woman  respon¬ 
sible  for  a  single  line  of  work  in  the  local,  state  and  national 
society.  This  puts  a  premium  upon  personality,  develops  a 
negative  into  a  positive  with  the  least  loss  of  time,  and  increases 
beyond  all  computation  the  aggregate  of  work  accomplished. 
Women  with  specialties  have  thus  been  multiplied  by  tens  of 
thousands,  and  the  temperance  reform  introduced  into  strong¬ 
holds  of  power  hitherto  neglected  or  unthought  of.  Is  an  expo¬ 
sition  to  be  held,  or  a  state  or  county  fair?  there  is  a  woman 
in  the  locality  who  knows  it  is  her  business  to  see  that  the 
W.  C.  T.  U.  has  an  attractive  booth  with  temperance  literature 
and  temperance  drinks  ;  and  that,  besides  all  this,  it  is  her  duty 
to  secure  laws  and  by-laws  requiring  the  teetotal  absence  of 
intoxicants  from  grounds  and  buildings.  Is  there  an  institution 
for  the  dependent  or  delinquent  classes  ?  there  is  a  woman  in 
the  locality  who  knows  it  is  her  duty  to  see  that  temperance  lit¬ 
erature  is  circulated,  temperance  talking  and  singing  done,  and 
that  flowers  with  appropriate  sentiments  attached  are  sent  the 
inmates  by  young  ladies  banded  for  that  purpose.  Is  there  a 
convocation  of  ministers,  doctors,  teachers,  editors,  voters,  or  any 
other  class  of  opinion-manufacturers  announced  to  meet  in  any 
town  or  city  ?  there  is  a  woman  thereabouts  who  knows  it  is 
her  business  to  secure,  through  some  one  of  the  delegates  to 
these  influential  gatherings,  a  resolution  favoring  the  temper¬ 
ance  movement,  and  pledging  it  support  along  the  line  of  work 
then  and  there  represented.  Is  there  a  legislature  anywhere 
about  to  meet,  or  is  Congress  in  session  ?  there  is  a  woman  near 
at  hand  who  knows  it  is  her  business  to  make  the  air  heavy  with 
the  white,  hovering  wings  of  petitions  gathered  up  from  every¬ 
where  asking  for  prohibition,  for  the  better  protection  of  women 
and  girls,  for  the  preventing  of  the  sale  of  tobacco  to  minors,  for 
the  enforcement  of  the  Sabbath*  or  for  the  enfranchisement  of 
women. 

Thus  have  the  manifold  relationships  of  the  mighty  temper- 


474 


The  Triple  Curse. 


ance  movement  been  studied  out  by  women  in  the  training-school 
afforded  by  the  real  work  and  daily  object-lessons  of  the  W.  C. 
T.  U.  Its  aim  is  everywhere  to  bring  woman  and  temperance  in 
contact  with  the  problem  of  humanity’s  heart-break  and  sin  ;  to 
protect  the  home  by  prohibiting  the  saloon,  and  to  police  the 
state  with  men  and  women  voters  committed  to  the  enforcement 
of  righteous  law.  The  women  saw,  as  years  passed  on,  that  not 
one,  but  three  curses  were  pronounced  upon  their  sons  by  the 
nineteenth  century  civilization  :  the  curse  of  the  narcotic  poisons, 
alcohol  and  nicotine  ;  the  curse  of  gambling  ;  the  curse  of  social 
sin,  deadlier  than  all,  and  that  these  three  are  part  and  parcel  of 
each  other.  And  so,  ‘  ‘  distinct  like  the  billows,  but  one  like  the 
sea,”  is  their  unwearied  warfare  against  each  and  all.  They 
have  learned,  by  the  logic  of  defeat,  that  the  mother-heart  must 
be  enthroned  in  all  places  of  power  before  its  edicts  will  be 
heeded.  For  this  reason  they  have  been  educated  up  to  the  level 
of  the  equal  suffrage  movement.  For  the  first  time  in  history, 
the  women  of  the  South  have  clasped  hands  with  their  Northern 
sisters  in  faith  and  fealty,  wearing  the  white  ribbon  emblem  of 
patriotism,  purity  and  peace,  and  inscribing  on  their  banners  the 
motto  of  the  organized  crusade,  “  For  God  and  Home  and  Native 
Land.” 

‘  ‘  No  sectarianism  in  religion,  ”  “no  sectionalism  in  politics,  ’  ’ 
“no  sex  in  citizenship” — these  are  the  battle-cries  of  this  relent¬ 
less  but  peaceful  warfare.  We  believe  that  woman  will  bless  and 
brighten  every  place  she  enters,  and  that  she  will  enter  every 
place  on  the  round  earth.  We  believe  in  prohibition  by  law, 
prohibition  by  politics,  and  prohibition  by  woman’s  ballot.  After 
ten  years’  experience,  the  women  of  the  crusade  became  con¬ 
vinced  that  until  the  people  of  this  country  divide  at  the  ballot-box 
on  the  foregoing  issue,  America  can  never  be  nationally  delivered 
from  the  dram-shop.  They  therefore  publicly  announced  their 
devotion  to  the  Prohibition  party,  and  promised  to  lend  it  their 
influence  and  prayers,  which,  with  the  exception  of  a  very  small 
minority,  they  have  since  most  sedulously  done.  Since  then 
they  have  not  ceased  beseeching  voters  to  cast  their  ballots  first 
of  all  to  help  elect  an  issue,  rather  than  a  man.  For  this  they 
have  been  vilified  as  if  it  were  a  crime  ;  but  they  have  gone  on  their 
way,  kindly  as  sunshine,  steadfast  as  gravitation,  and  persistent 


One  in  Christ  Jesus," 


475 


as  a  hero’s  faith.  While  their  enemy  has  brewed  beer,  they  have 
brewed  public  opinion  ;  while  he  distilled  whisky,  they  distilled 
sentiment ;  while  he  rectified  spirits,  they  rectified  the  spirit  that 
is  in  man.  They  have  had  good  words  of  cheer  alike  for  North 
and  South,  for  Catholic  and  Protestant,  for  home  and  foreign  born, 
for  white  and  black,  but  gave  words  of  criticism  for  the  liquor 
traffic  and  the  parties  that  it  dominates  as  its  servants  and  allies. 

While  the  specific  aims  of  the  white  ribbon  women  every¬ 
where  are  directed  against  the  manufacture,  sale  and  use  of 
alcholic  beverages,  it  is  sufficiently  apparent  that  the  indirect 
line  of  their  progress  is,  perhaps,  equally  rapid,  and  involves 
social,  governmental,  and  ecclesiastical  equality  between  women 
and  men.  By  this  is  meant  such  financial  independence  on  the 
part  of  women  as  will  enable  them  to  hold  men  to  the  same  high 
standards  of  personal  purity  in  the  habitudes  of  life  as  they  have 
required  of  women,  such  a  participation  in  the  affairs  of  govern¬ 
ment  as  shall  renovate  politics  and  make  home  questions  the 
paramount  issue  of  the  state,  and  such  equality  in  all  church 
relations  as  shall  fulfill  the  gospel  declaration,  “  There  is  neither 
male  nor  female,  but  ye  are  all  one  in  Christ  Jesus.” 

The  cultivation  of  specialties,  and  the  development  of  esprit 
de  corps  among  women,  all  predict  the  day  when,  through  this 
mighty  conserving  force  of  motherhood  introduced  into  every 
department  of  human  activity,  the  common  weal  shall  be  the 
individual  care  ;  war  shall  rank  among  the  lost  arts  ;  nationality 
shall  mean  what  Edward  Bellamy’s  wonderful  book,  entitled 
“  Booking  Backward,”  sets  before  us  as  the  fulfillment  of  man’s 
highest  earthly  dream  ;  and  Brotherhood  shall  become  the  talis- 
manic  word  and  realized  estate  of  all  humanity. 

In  concluding  this  portion  of  my  book,  I  can  not  better  express 
my  view  of  what  we  have  been  and  what  we  may  be,  than  by  the 
following  quotation  from  my  address  before  the  Women’s  Con¬ 
gress,  at  its  meeting  in  Des  Moines,  Iowa,  1885  : 

Humanly  speaking,  such  success  as  we  have  attained  has  resulted  from 
the  following  policy  and  methods  * 

1.  The  simplicity  and  unity  of  the  organization.  The  local  union  is  a 
miniature  of  the  National,  having  similar  officiary  and  plan  of  work.  It  is 
a  military  company  carefully  mustered,  officered  and  drilled.  The  county 
union  is  but  an  aggregation  of  the  locals,  and  the  district,  of  the  counties, 


The  Secret  of  Success. 


476 


while  each  state  is  a  regiment,  and  the  National  itself  is  womanhood’s 
“  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic.” 

2.  Individual  responsibility  is  everywhere  urged.  “Committees”  are 
obsolete  with  us,  and  each  distinct  line  of  work  has  one  person,  called  a 
superintendent,  who  is  responsible  for  its  success  in  the  local,  and  another 
in  the  state,  and  a  third  in  the  National  union.  She  may  secure  such  lieu¬ 
tenants  as  she  likes,  but  the  union  looks  to  her  for  results  and  holds  her 
accountable  for  failures. 

3.  The  quick  and  cordial  recognition  of  talent  is  another  secret  of 
W.  C.  T.  U.  success.  Women,  young  or  old,  who  can  speak,  write,  conduct 
meetings,  organize,  keep  accounts,  interest  children,  talk  with  the  drinking 
man,  get  up  entertainments,  or  carry  flowers  to  the  sick  or  imprisoned, 
are  all  pressed  into  the  service. 

There  has  been  also  in  our  work  an  immense  amount  of  digging  in  the 
earth  to  find  one’s  own  buried  talent,  to  rub  off  the  rust  and  to  put  it  out  at 
interest.  Perhaps  that  is,  after  all,  its  most  significant  feature,  considered 
as  a  movement. 

4.  Subordination  of  the  financial  phase  has  helped,  not  hindered  us. 
Rack  of  funds  has  not  barred  out  even  the  poorest  from  our  sisterhood.  A 
penny  per  week  is  our  basis  of  membership,  of  which  a  fraction  goes  to  the 
state,  and  ten  cents  to  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U. 

Money  has  been,  and  I  hope  may  be,  a  consideration  altogether  second¬ 
ary.  Of  wealth  we  have  had  incomputable  stores  ;  indeed,  I  question  if 
America  has  a  richer  corporation  to-day  than  ours  :  wealth  of  faith,  of  en¬ 
thusiasm,  of  experience,  of  brain,  of  speech,  of  common  sense — this  is  a 
capital  stock  that  can  never  depreciate,  needs  no  insurance,  requires  no 
combination  lock  or  bonded  custodian,  and  puts  us  under  no  temptation  to 
tack  our  course  or  trim  our  sails. 

5.  Nothing  has  helped  us  more  than  the  entire  freedom  of  our  society 
from  the  influence  or  dictation  of  capitalists ,  politicians,  or  corporations  of 
any  sort  whatever.  This  can  not  be  too  strongly  emphasized  as  one  of  the 
best  elements  of  po\^er.  Indeed,  it  may  be  truly  said  that  this  vast  and  sys¬ 
tematic  work  has  been  in  nowise  guided,  moulded  or  controlled  by  men. 
It  has  not  even  occurred  to  them  to  offer  advice  until  within  a  year  !  and  to 
accept  advice  has  never  occurred  to  us,  and  I  hope  never  will.  While  a  great 
many  noble  men  are  “honorary  members,”  and  in  one  or  two  sporadic  in¬ 
stances  men  have  acted  temporarity  as  presidents  of  local  unions  at  the 
South,  I  am  confident  our  grand  constituency  of  temperance  brothers  rejoice 
almost  as  much  as  we  do  in  the  fact  that  we  women  have  from  the  begin¬ 
ning  gone  our.  own  gait  and  acted  according  to  our  own  sweet  will.  They 
would  bear  witness,  I  am  sure,  to  the  fact  that  we  have  never  done  this  flip¬ 
pantly  or  in  a  spirit  of  bravado,  but  with  great  seriousness,  asking  the  help 
of  God.  I  can  say,  personally,  what  I  believe  our  leaders  would  also  state 
as  their  experience,  that  so  strongly  do  good  men  seem  to  be  impressed  that 
the  call  coming  to  Christian  women  in  the  Crusade  was  of  God,  and  not  of 
man,  that  in  the  eleven  years  of  tuy  almost  uninterrupted  connection  with 
the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.,  I  have  hardly  received  a  letter  of  advice  or  a  ver- 


Comradeship  Among  Women  A 


477 


bal  exhortation  from  minister  or  layman,  and  I  would  mildly  but  firmly 
say  that  I  have  not  sought  their  counsel.  The  hierarchies  of  the  land  will 
be  ransacked  in  vain  for  the  letter-heads  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  We  have 
.sought,  it  is  true,  the  help  of  almost  every  influential  society  in  the  nation, 
both  religious  and  secular ;  we  have  realized  how  greatly  this  help  was 
needed  by  us,  and  grandly  has  it  been  accorded,  but  what  we  asked  for  was 
an  indorsement  of  plans  already  made  and  work  already  done.  Thus  may 
we  always  be  a  society  “  of  the  women,  by  the  women,”  but  for  humanity. 

6.  The  freedom  from  red-tape  and  the  keeping  out  of  ruts  is  another 
element  of  power.  We  practice  a  certain  amount  of  parliamentary  usage, 
and  strongly  urge  the  study  of  it  as  a  part  of  the  routine  of  local  unions. 
We  have  good,  strong  “constitutions”  and  by-laws  to  match ;  blanks  for 
reports ;  rolls  for  membership  ;  pledges  in  various  styles  of  art ;  badges, 
ribbons  and  banners,  and  hand-books  of  our  work  are  all  to  be  had  at 
“  national  headquarters,”  but  we  will  not  come  under  a  yoke  of  bondage  to 
the  paraphernalia  of  the  movement.  We  are  always  moving  on.  “Time 
can  not  dull  nor  custom  stale  our  infinite  variety.”  We  are  exceedingly  apt 
to  break  out  in  a  new  phase.  Here  we  lop  off  an  old  department  and  there 
we  add  two  new  ones.  Our  “new  departures  ”  are  frequent  and  oftentimes 
most  unexpected.  Indeed,  we  exhibit  the  characteristics  of  an  army  on  the 
march,  rather  than  an  army  in  camp  or  hospital. 

The  marked  esprit  de  corps  is  to  be  included  among  the  secrets  of  suc¬ 
cess.  The  W.  C.  T.  U.  has  invented  a  phrase  to  express  this,  and  it  is 
“comradeship  among  women.”  So  generous  and  so  cherished  has  this 
comradeship  become,  that  ours  is  often  called  a  “mutual  admiration 
society.”  We  believe  in  each  other,  stand  by  each  other,  and  have  plenty 
of  emulation  without  envy.  Sometimes  a  state  or  an  individual  says  to 
another,  “The  laurels  of  Miltiades  will  not  suffer  me  to  sleep,”  but  there  is 
no  staying  awake  to  belittle  success  ;  we  do  not  detract  from  any  worker’s 
rightful  meed  of  praise.  So  much  for  the  “hidings  of  power”  in  the 
W.  C.  T.  U. 

There  are  two  indirect  results  of  this  organized  work  among  women , 
concerning  which  I  wish  to  speak  : 

First.  It  is  a  strong  nationalizing  influence.  Its  method  and  spirit 
differ  very  little,  whether  you  study  them  on  the  border  of  Puget  Sound  or 
the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  In  San  Francisco  and  Baltimore  white  ribbon  women 
speak  the  same  vernacular  *  tell  of  their  gospel  meetings  and  petitions  ;  dis¬ 
cuss  The  Union  Signal  editorials,  and  wonder  “what  will  be  the  action  of 
our  next  national  convention.” 

Almost  all  other  groups  of  women  workers  who  dot  the  continent,  are 
circumscribed  by  denominational  lines  and  act  largely  under  the  advice  of 
ecclesiastical  leaders.  The  W.  C.  T.  U.  feels  no  such  limitation.  North  and 
South  are  strictly  separate  in  the  women’s  missionary  work  of  the  churches, 
but  Mississippi  and  Maine,  Texas  and  Oregon,  Massachusetts  and  Georgia, 
sit  side  by  side  around  the  yearly  camp-fires  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  The  South¬ 
ern  women  have  learned  to  love  us  of  the  North  and  our  hearts  are  true  to 
them  ;  while  to  us  all  who  fight  in  peaceful  ranks  unbroken,  “  For  God  and 


478  Our  Aim  —  The  Regnancy  of  Christ. 

Home  and  Native  Land,”  the  Nation  is  a  sacred  name  spelled  with  a  cap¬ 
ital  N. 

Second.  Our  W.  C.  T.  U.  is  a  school ,  not  founded  in  that  thought,  or  for 
that  purpose,  but  sure  to  fit  us  for  the  sacred  duties  of  patriots  in  the  realm 
that  lies  just  beyond  the  horizon  of  the  coming  century. 

Here  we  try  our  wings  that  yonder  our  flight  may  be  strong  and  steady. 
Here  we  prove  our  capacity  for  great  deeds  ;  there  we  shall  perform  them. 
Here  we  make  our  experience  and  pass  our  novitiate  that  yonder  we  may 
calmly  take  our  places  and  prove  to  the  world  that  what  it  needed  most 
was  “two  heads  in  counsel,”  as  well  as  “ two  beside  the  hearth.”  When 
that  day  comes,  the  nation  shall  no  longer  miss  as  now  the  influence  of 
half  its  wisdom,  more  than  half  its  purity  and  nearly  all  its  gentleness, 
in  courts  of  justice  and  halls  of  legislation.  Then  shall  one  code  of  morals — 
and  that  the  highest— govern  both  men  and  women,  then  shall  the  Sabbath 
be  respected,  the  rights  of  the  poor  be  recognized,  the  liquor  traffic  ban¬ 
ished,  and  the  home  protected  from  all  its  foes. 

Born  of  such  a  visitation  of  God’s  Spirit  as  the  world  has  not  known 
since  tongues  of  fire  sat  upon  the  wondering  group  at  Pentecost,  cradled  in 
a  faith  high  as  the  hope  of  a  saint,  and  deep  as  the  depths  of  a  drunkard’s 
despair,  and  baptized  in  the  beauty  of  holiness,  the  Crusade  determined 
the  ultimate  goal  of  its  teachable  child,  the  W.  C.  T.  U.,  which  has  one 
steadfast  aim,  and  that  none  other  than  the  regnancy  of  Christ,  not  in 
form,  but  in  fact ;  not  in  substance,  but  in  essence  ;  not  ecclesiastically,  but 
truly  in  the  hearts  of  men.  To  this  end  its  methods  are  varied,  changing, 
manifold,  but  its  unwavering  faith,  these  words  express  :  “  Not  by  might, 

nor  by  power,  but  by  my  spirit,  saith  the  Lord  of  Hosts.” 


BOURBON  JUG  WATER  COOLER  'NEW  ORLEANS  EXPOSITION 


I.) 


CHAPTER  X. 


MISCELLANEOUS  INCIDENTS  OF  TEMPERANCE  WORK. 

How  threadbare,  because  so  frequent,  is  the  reiteration  of  the 
excuse  among  moderate  drinkers,  “  I  can  take  a  glassof  beer,  or 
I  can  let  it  alone.  ’  ’  A  stalwart  young  Scotchman  came  to  Evans¬ 
ton.  He  was  of  good  family,  fine,  athletic  figure,  handsome 
face  expressive  of  strength  and  resolution.  He  took  the  Uni¬ 
versity  course  with  credit  to  himself,  afterward  graduated  from 
the  Law  Department  and  began  to  practice  in  Evanston.  Years 
passed  by,  twelve  of  them,  I  think,  when  this  man  entered  the 
Gospel  Temperance  meeting  addressed  by  me  one  Sunday  after¬ 
noon  in  Evanston,  and  when  the  speech  was  over  came  to  the 
front,  and  turning  toward  the  audience,  largely  made  up  that 
day  of  University  students,  he  raised  his  trembling  hand,  and 
with  a  face  more  marred  and  marked  by  dissipation  than  any 
language  can  depict,  he  cried  out  in  his  deep  voice,  full  of  tears, 
“  Boys,  don’t  drink,  don’t  drink  !  I  was  a  student  just  as  you 
are,  with  prospects  just  as  bright;  held  my  own  well  in  the 
University  all  through  the  scholastic  and  professional  courses, 
but  said  from  time  to  time  as  I  took  a  glass  of  beer,  ‘  This  can 
never  master  a  man  so  masterful  as  I.’  And  here  I  stand  to-day 
and  you  see  how  it  is.  I  am  the  slave  of  that  little  glass  of  beer. 
Let  me  say  it  once  again  and  don’t  forget  it  while  you  live, 

‘  Boys,  don’t  drink,  don't  drink  !  ’  ” 

Another  man  in  the  same  town,  a  blacksmith,  a  Scotchman 
by  birth,  or  at  least  by  heritage,  after  having  been  known  in 
Evanston  as  a  pronounced  inebriate,  resolved  one  Thanksgiving 
Day,  nine  years  or  more  ago,  that  he  would  never  touch  liquor 
again. 


(479) 


480 


Fulfilled  Pledges. 


He  lias  faithfully  kept  his  word,  is  a  pillar  in  the  temperance 
work  in  Evanston,  no  man  being  more  respected  or  relied  upon. 
I  am  glad  to  count  him  among  the  friends  of  our  family,  and  to 
invite  him  with  his  family  whenever  we  have  a  reception.  What 
pride  he  takes  on  these  occasions,  going  to  the  railroad  magnates, 
getting  them  to  lend  great  engine  head-lights  to  make  the 
grounds  bright,  both  in  front  and  on  the  lawn  behind  the  house. 
He  trims  up  the  place  with  festoons  of  evergreens,  and  is  our 
chief  standby  throughout  the  enterprise.  I  remember  when  he 
was  going  away  after  mother’s  eightieth  birthday  festival,  when 
four  hundred  guests  had  passed  through  our  home,  from  the 
Governor  of  the  state  to  the  humblest  of  our  reformed  men,  with 
their  families,  and  every  clergyman,  including  the  pastor  of  the 
colored  church,  so  that  our  own  pastor  said  that  if  ever  he  saw  a 
gospel  feast  this  was  the  one — this  good  man  said  to  me  as  he 
left  our  door,  nearly  all  the  guests  having  gone,  ‘  ‘  I  suppose  it 
did  n’t  mean  so  very  much  to  most  of  them  that  live  in  nice 
houses  and  have  everything  they  want,  but  I  tell  you  it  was  a 
mighty  epoch  in  my  life,  and  will  make  me  a  better  man.”  It 
was  this  same  kind  friend  who  placed  in  front  of  Rest  Cottage, 
and  of  my  sister’s  annex  adjoining  it,  a  beautiful  standing  vase 
which  he  fills  every  year  with  flowers.  It  is  to  him  and  his  fam¬ 
ily  that  we  are  glad  to  send  remembrances  from  time  to  time, 
and  to  him  that  the  ladies  of  our  society  gave  a  nice  arm-chair 
one  Christmas,  in  token  of  their  appreciation  of  all  that  he  had 
done,  suffered  and  survived. 

At  one  well-remembered  meeting  in  the  town  of  S.,  Mr. 

C - ,  who  was  from  an  excellent  family,  and  had  been  a 

leading  merchant,  but  was  now  a  confirmed  drunkard,  came 
forward  to  sign  the  pledge.  Something  in  his  face  interested 
me,  the  more  so  as  I  noticed  a  look  of  positive  distress  on  the 
faces  of  some  of  the  white  ribbon  women.  This  was  so  contrary 
to  the  usual  cordial  reception  given  by  our  workers  to  any 
one — no  matter  how  degraded — who  wishes  to  enter  on  a  new 
life,  that  I  asked  an  explanation  afterward  and  they  said,  “He 
has  signed  it  so  many  times  and  broken  it  so  often  that  he  is 
bringing  the  pledge  into  positive  disrepute.  Some  saloon-keeper 
will  offer  him  a  drink  if  he  will  let  him  have  his  pledge  card  and 


Perfect  Through  Suffering . 


481 


they  will  nail  it  up  behind  the  bar.”  1  could  not  wonder  that 
the  ladies  were  jealous  for  their  cause,  but  somehow  I  believed 
that  this  time  he  would  stand  firm.  I  resolved  to  go  and  see 
his  wife,  and  the  next  morning  did  so.  She  was  a  stony-faced 
and  broken-hearted  woman.  I  could  not  get  the  least  intima¬ 
tion  of  hope.  Finally  I  asked  her  to  kneel  with  me  in  prayer, 
which  she  did,  I  think  out  of  courtesy  more  than  from  any  inter¬ 
est  in  the  exercises.  And  as  I  left,  after  urging  her  to  cheer  him 
up  all  she  could,  she  replied,  without  a  particle  of  light  in  her 
face,  “  I  will  agree  to  this  much,  I  won’t  hinder  him  the  least  bit 
in  the  world.  ’  ’  If  her  manner  was  as  inspiring  to  him  as  it  was 
to  me,  I  think  that  he  must  have  had  to  get  a  good  deal  of  it  be¬ 
fore  he  could  extract  any  appreciable  amount  of  enthusiasm.  A 
year  passed  and  I  returned  to  the  same  village,  and  spoke  in  the 
same  church  once  more.  Standing  in  the  pulpit,  I  read  my  audi¬ 
ence,  pew  by  pew,  as  one  would  read  a  book  line  by  line,  to  find 
the  countenance  of  this  gray-haired,  kindly  man.  He  was  not 
there.  No  one  had  spoken  to  me  of  him  and  I  began  to  fear  it 
was  because  they  did  not  like  to  disappoint  me.  I  sought  his 
home  again.  A  lady,  smiling  and  affable,  came  out  of  the  door 
as  I  approached,  and  met  me  at  the  gate.  I  did  not  know  her,  but 
she  introduced  herself  as  the  same  woman  whose  stbny  face  I  had 
carried  in  my  memory  throughout  the  year.  ‘  ‘  Come  around  into 
the  garden,  he  is  sitting  on  the  bench  under  his  favorite  apple- 
tree,”  she  said.  So  I  went,  and  he  rose  and  came  forward  to 
meet  me,  his  face  full  of  a  new  hope,  his  whole  appearance  in¬ 
stinct  with  self-respect.  I  thought  to  say  a  pleasant  word  to  him 
and  so  remarked,  “  Why  were  you  not  at  my  meeting  last  even¬ 
ing,  Mr.  -  ?  I  counted  on  you  more  than  on  any  one  except 

my  cousin.”  At  this  came  a  look  of  pain  and  a  quick  glance  at 
his  wife,  as  he  exclaimed,  “There  now,  we  have  got  to  tell  her, 
and  we  did  n’t  mean  to.”  Then  he  said  :  “You  have  n’t  heard 
a  word  from  me  this  year,  although  you  have  written  me  several 
times,  and  I  have  got  those  letters,  every  one  of  them,  put  away 
carefully,  and  I  have  read  the  newspapers  you  sent,  and  appre¬ 
ciated  your  kindness  just  as  much  as  if  you  had  heard  from  me. 
And  I  have  said  to  my  wife  often  when  she  would  ask  me  why  I 
did  n’t  write,  ‘  Anyhow,  I  am  doing  what  she  wants  me  to.’  But 
the  fact  is  that  I  have  n’t  been  outside  my  gate  since  you  was 


482 


No  “ Ball  and  Chain.” 


here  before,  and  I  am  ashamed  to  have  you  know  about  it,  but  it 
is  an  honest  fact — I  have  n’t  dared  to.  The  only  way  for  me, 
even  with  God’s  grace,  to  keep  true  to  what  I  promised  was  to 
stay  right  close  at  home.  I  tell  you  that  woman  there  has  been 
kind  to  me,  my  daughter  and  all  the  folks,  the  best  they  know. 
And  I  have  hoed  these  garden  beds,  don’t  you  see  how  fresh  and 
nice  they  are  ?  —  and  asked  God  to  take  the  weeds  out  of  my 
heart  as  I  do  the  weeds  that  get  among  the  flowers,  and  to  take 
care  of  the  posies,  if  I  have  got  any,  just  as  I  try  to  take  care  of 
these.  But  now  I  want  to  tell  you,”  he  went  on,  as  wTe  all  seated 
ourselves  on  the  bench  under  the  apple-tree,  “you  can  go  up  and 
down  throughout  the  country  just  where  you  have  a  mind,  for 
you  don’t  carry  any  ball  and  chain.  Now,  make  a  speech  for  me 
every  time  you  stand  before  the  people  and  tell  them  how  it  is 
with  me.  Tell  them  that  good  men  come  along  past  my  gate  and 
lean  their  elbows  on  it,  look  at  me  as  kind  as  can  be,  and  say, 

‘You  are  doing  first-rate,  - ,  keep  right  at  it,’  and  that 

very  minute  their  breaths  are  so  full  of  beer  or  something  even 
stronger  that  I  must  get  speedily  to  windward,  and  am  as  tempted 
as  I  can  well  be.  Then  they  came  along  here  on  election  day, 
leaned  their  elbows  on  my  gate  and  said,  ‘  I  tell  you,  you  are 
making  a  good  fight  of  it.  You  will  show  them  how  it  is  done 
this  time,  ’  and  they  walk  right  on  down  to  the  ballot-box  and  put 
in  little  pieces  of  paper  with  the  names  of  men  on  them  that  they 
know  favor  the  liquor  traffic  and  will  license  it  to  set  its  trap  here 
in  this  town,  so  that  I  dare  not  go  outside  my  gate.  Now,  when 
I  think  of  this,  it  makes  their  words  of  cheer  sound  sort  of  empty  ; 
I  think  they  might  have  helped  me  more  by  their  example  and 
their  vote.  You  talk  a  good  deal  about  the  arrest  of  thought,  I 
wish  you  could  screw  it  into  the  heads  of  the  men  in  my  own 
village.” 

Among  the  invitations  that  I  have  most  prized  is  the  follow¬ 
ing  from  that  most  cultured  of  all  Indian  races,  the  Cherokee, 
and  signed  by  the  famous  Chief,  Bushyhead  : 

Executive  Department,  Cherokee  Nation,  I.  T., 

Taheeouah,  May  18,  1881. 

Mrs.  L.  I.  Stapeer  :  — In  expectation  of  a  visit  to  the  Nation  from  Miss 
Frances  E.  Willard,  president  of  the  Christian  Temperance  Union,  about 
the  twelfth  instant,  I  respectfully  request  you,  in  connection  with  Mrs. 
French,  Miss  Carrie  Armstrong,  Rev.  A.  C.  Bacone,  Rev.  Daniel  Rogers 


Mrs.  Judge  Thompson. 


4^3 


and  W.  W.  Ross,  Esq.,  to  act  as  a  committee,  on  behalf  of  the  Nation,  to 
welcome  Miss  Willard  to  the  capital  when  she  arrives,  and,  jointly  and  sev¬ 
erally,  to  devise  such  means  as  may  seem  to  you  best,  to  make  her  visit  to 
the  Nation  pleasant  and  agreeable  to  herself,  and  profitable  to  our  people. 
Miss  Willard  comes  highly  recommended  as  a  lecturer  and  laborer  in  the 
cause  of  temperance  and  humanity.  Very  respectfully, 

D.  W.  Bushyhead, 
Principal  Chief  Cherokee  Nation. 

My  first  extended  temperance  trip  was  in  the  state  of  Ohio, 

in  the  month  of  May,  1876,  two  years  after  the  Crusade.  The 

« 

saloons  were  all  back  again,  flourishing  as  usual.  I  asked  men 
and  women  the  question,  “  What  good  do  you  think  the  Cru¬ 
sade  accomplished  ?  ”  One  woman  answered:  “  Until  we  went 
out  praying  on  the  street  I  never  knew  where  the  saloons  were, 
or  how  they  looked.  Of  course,  I  had  passed  by  them,  but  I  had 
the  impression  that  those  second-rate  looking  places  were  barber¬ 
shops.  The  Crusade  taught  me  that  they  are  places  where  men 
get  shaved,  not  of  their  beards,  but  of  their  honor.”  Another 
made  this  explanation  :  “Until  the  Crusade  I  never  taught  my 
children  especially  about  temperance,  but  now  they  have  had  it 
dinned  into  ear  and  mind,  until,  this  morning,  when  I  was  going 
down  town  with  my  little  boy,  hardly  six  years  of  age,  I  felt  his 
hands  grasping  my  own  more  closely  than  usual,  and  noticed 
that  his  step  was  quicker.  ‘  What  is  the  matter,  my  son  ?  Why 
do  you  hurry  mamma  along  ?  ’  I  asked,  and  I  shall  never  forget 
how  he  rolled  up  his  bright  eyes  to  my  face,  and  said,  ‘  Why, 
mamma,  don’t  you  want  to  hurry?  Don’t  you  know  we  are 
passing  a  saloon  ?  ’  ”  A  movement  that  can  point  out  to  women 
that  there  are  saloons,  and  what  they  are  like,  and  can  inspire 
in  children  a  wholesome  dread  of  such  institutions,  will  bear 
fruit  far  beyond  the  hopes  of  those  whose  heroism  .set  it  going. 

Naturally  enough,  I  was  desirous  of  seeing  Mrs.  Judge 
Thompson,  leader  of  the  first  praying  band  in  the  Crusade,  and  I 
went  for  that  purpose  to  speak  in  Hillsboro.  I  found  a  little 
town  that  thinks  well  of  itself,  not  a  great  ways  from  the  Ken¬ 
tucky  line,  the  former  home  of  Governor  Trimble,  who  was  a  great 
temperance  man  and  the  father  of  this  same  Mrs.  Thompson.  I 
found  the  beautiful  home  he  had  built  for  her,  a  fine  house,  with 
every  comfort  and  convenience,  large,  shady  grounds  about  it, 
and  at  the  door,  as  I  entered,  was  the  sweetest  woman,  of  medium 


I 


484  Our  Magna  Charta  of  the  Crusade . 

height,  slight  figure,  with  the  remains  of  striking  beauty  in  her 
face,  golden-brown,  curly  hair,  kind  eyes  and  rare,  winsome  smile. 
Her  voice  was  low  and  sweet  as  she  welcomed  me,  almost  as  my 
own  mother  might  have  done,  to  her  delightful  home.  She  told 
me  all  the  story,  and  in  her  own  room,  where  she  first  read  the 
Crusade  hymn,  we  read  it  once  again  together  and  knelt  in 
pra3^er.  Then  I  said  to  myself,  “What  if  this  woman  had  not 
dared?  What  if  her  noble  coadjutors  had  shrunk  from  the  un¬ 
dertaking  ?  Many  a  time  had  Dr.  Dio  Lewis  in  his  lectures  urged 
the  women  to  go  forth  into  the  saloons  and  pray.  What  if  these 
women,  like  so  many  ethers,  had  declined?  ” 

I  spoke  in  the  Presbyterian  church  from  which  the  noble 
band  marched  two  by  two  and  there  I  heard  Mrs.  Thompson 
read  the  Crusade  psalm  once  more  out  of  the  Bible  that  is  now 
our  Magna  Charta  of  the  Crusade.  On  the  tenth  anniversary  of 
the  movement,  I  went  again  to  Hillsboro,  staying  with  Mrs. 
Thompson,  and  speaking  in  the  hall  where  Dr.  Dio  Lewis  spoke. 
Going  from  Hillsboro,  the  cradle,  to  Washington  Court-house, 
the  crown  of  the  Crusade,  I  spent  Christmas  of  1883  in  the  home 
of  Mrs.  Ustick,  who  with  Mrs.  George  Carpenter  made  up  the 
Crusade  duet  of  leaders  in  that  famous  town.  Mrs.  Carpenter 
was  the  wife  of  the  Presbyterian  minister,  and  the  success  of  the 
movement  in  Washington  Court-house  so  far  outranked  that  of 
Hillsboro,  that  the  good  people,  naturally  enough,  have  always 
felt  that  justice  was  not  done  them  when  the  muse  of  history 
represented  Hillsboro  as  the  vital  historical  center  of  the  greatest 
Pentecost  of  modern  times.  This  was  manifest  on  the  evening 
when  I  addressed  them  in  their  Temperance  Hall,  and  it  grieved 
me  to  the  heart  that  they  must  always  think  so,  and,  perhaps, 
blame  me  a  little  that  at  first  I  had  accounted  Hillsboro  the  start¬ 
ing  point — which  it  was  by  the  space  of  twenty-four  hours.  But 
surely  all  temperance  people  will  love  and  cherish  the  memory 
of  that  splendid  beacon-light  flung  out  by  the  brave  women  of 
Washington  Court-house,  from  which  it  shone  to  every  corner 
of  the  Buckeye  State,  and  thence  throughout  the  nation,  and 
thence  throughout  the  world. 

Kvery  public  speaker  must  endure  the  contradiction  of  sin¬ 
ners  and  of  saints  as  well.  This  should  be  taken  into  account 
beforehand,  and  should  not  be  looked  upon  with  disgust,  ill- 


Light  for  One  Step  Ahead.  485 

temper  or  surprise.  For  instance,  tire  ladies  of  Elmira  W.  C.  T.  U. 
had  written  me  to  tie  present  at  the  Annual  Fair,  and  I  went, 
knowing  simply  what  I  have  stated.  At  the  entrance  of  the  fair 
grounds  my  carriage  was  met  by  a  band  of  music,  of  which  I  had 
no  previous  knowledge  ;  but  the  statement  went  all  over  the 
country,  north  and  south,  east  and  west,  that  I  had  become  so 
strong-minded  that  I  traveled  with  a  brass  band,  and  came  to  the 
entrance  of  the  Exposition  Building  where  United' States  Senator 
Hiscock  was  speaking,  breaking  up  his  address,  and  going  on 
the  platform  with  the  statement  that  the  time  was  mine  and  I 
proposed  to  use  it.  None  of  my  acquaintances  would  believe 
this,  but  what  of  the  public  in  general  ?  No  one  can  ever  track 
down  a  lie  like  that.  The  facts  were,  that  as  we  drove  up  to  the 
hall,  preceded  by  the  band,  Senator  Hiscock  was  speaking,  at 
the  hour  assigned  to  the  ladies  for  their  meeting,  and,  no  doubt, 
was  disturbed  by  the  music.  I  entered  the  hall  with  other  ladies, 
took  my  seat  and  listened  to  what  he  had  to  say,  which  was  a 
panegyric  on  tobacco-raising,  a  theme  not  specially  congenial  to 
the  audience  that  had  gathered  to  hear  a  temperance  speech, 
and  was  largely  made  up  of  thorough-going  temperance  people. 
At  the  close  of  the  speech  I  went  upon  the  stand,  expressed  to 
him  my  regret  that  he  should  have  been  incommoded,  and  we 
proceeded  with  our  meeting. 

I  had  spoken  before  an  afternoon  audience  of  ladies  in  a  vil¬ 
lage  of  Delaware.  It  was  in  my  earlier  work,  and  I  probably 
did  not  make  my  points  as  clear  as  I  ought,  for  a  nice  old  lady 
to  whom  the  membership  card  was  handed  by  one  of  my  assist¬ 
ants  who  sought  her  signature,  looked  at  the  card,  poised  the 
proffered  pencil  in  her  honest  hand,  and  mused  audibly  as  follows  : 
“She  wants  me  to  join  this  .society,  and  I  have  no  idea  in  the 
world  what  they  intend  to  do.  But  I  suppose  it  will  be  a  good 
deal  as  it  is  when  I  take  my  lantern  of  a  dark  night  to  go  to 
prayer-meeting — I  can  see  but  one  step  ahead,  and  I  take  that, 
and  when  I  have  done  so  the  lantern  is  there  and  I  am  there,  and 
we  can  just  go  on  and  take  another.”  So  her  honored  name 
went  down  upon  the  card,  and  she  handed  it  back,  saying  still  to 
herself,  “  If  the  Ford  has  got  any  temperance  work  for  me  to  do, 
He’s  going  to  give  me  light  to  do  it  by.” 

I11  a  town  in  Virginia,  a  group  of  lovely  women  gathered 


“  A  Righteous  Covet  mg” 


486 

aDout  to  hear  what  I  wanted  them  to  do,  and  when  I  proposed  an 
organization,  the  loveliest  of  them  said  to  me,  in  a  low,  sweet 
voice,  “  Because  my  own  home  has  never  known  this  curse,  but 
my  husband  and  sons  are  pure  and  true,  I  will  join  the  society 
from  a  simple  sense  of  gratitude  and  loyalty.” 

In  Griffin,  Georgia,  at  a  similar  meeting,  going  down  the 
aisle  for  signatures,  I  passed  a  sweet  young  lady  who  shook  her 
head  when  the  membership  card  was  offered  her.  A  few  mo¬ 
ments  later  I  came  back  up  the  same  aisle,  when  she  laid  her 
hand  upon  my  arm,  saying,  “I  think  I’ll  change  my  mind.” 
Of  course,  I  recognized  her  ancient,  inalienable  right  to  do  just 
that,  and  as  she  wrote  her  graceful  autograph,  I  said  in  a  low 
voice,  “  Would  you  mind  telling  me,  my  dear,  how  you  came  to 
change  your  mind?”  And  with  flushed  cheeks,  she  answered, 
earnestly,  “  I  am  in  the  senior  class  at  the  High  School,  and  very 
busy,  but  when  I  came  to  think  it  over,  I  could  not  go  home  and 
say  I  had  declined  to  help  3^011  form  this  societ}7  —  I  did  not  dare 
to  do  that,  for  my  011I37  brother  spends  all  his  evenings  out  !  ’  ’ 

In  Virginia  City,  Nevada,  there  was  a  charming  old  lad>r  in 
our  audience  whom  I  especial^  coveted  for  the  societ3',  but  I  did 
not  observe  when  the  cards  wrere  passed  whether  she  gave  her 
name  or  not.  At  the  close  of  the  meeting  she  came  forward  to 
greet  me,  and  I  said,  “  Dear  lad\7,  I  coveted  you  with  a  ‘  right¬ 
eous  coveting  ’  ;  did  you  give  us  your  name?”  She  answrered, 
presenting'her  little  grandson  Neddie  to  me,  “  He  sat  b>r  m37  side 
during  your  address.  I  kept  saying  to  myself,  ‘  I  am  a  member 
of  the  Episcopal  Church,  and  that  is  vow  enough  *  I  don’t  pro¬ 
pose  to  take  another,  nor  do  I  think  it  is  required  of  me.’  But 
when  the  paper  was  passed  around,  he  drew  his  little  stub-pencil 
from  his  pocket,  and  reaching  Jiis  hand  for  the  pledge,  printed 
his  name,  never  37et  dishonored,  in  the  proper  place,  and  turning 
to  me  with  a  smile  in  his  blue  e>Tes,  he  said,  ‘  Here,  grandma, 
put  your  name  right  dowrn  under  Neddie’s.’  Of  course  I  did  just 
what  the  boy  desired.” 

Among  our  pleasant  convention  episodes,  should  beffiamed 
our  visit  to  President  Arthur,  whose  home  w7as  then  in  a  stone 
house  on  Capitol  Hill.  Anything  more  elegant  than  his  manner 
of  receiving  us  I  have  not  seen.  At  my  suggestion,  the  delegates 
stood  in  groups  according  to  their  states  and  territories.  The 


Object-lessons  of  Temperance.  4$  7 

President  entered  on  the  arm  of  Senator  Blair,  and  on  being  pre¬ 
sented  I  said  to  him,  “  We  will  not  take  your  time,  Mr.  Presi¬ 
dent,  to  shake  hands  with  every  one  of  these  ladies,  but  have 
arranged  that  each  delegation  shall  be  presented  to  you  by  its 
president,  and  she  alone  will  claim  the  honor  of  a  personal  recog¬ 
nition.”  His  handsome  face  lighted  up  with  a  genial  smile  as 
he  replied,  “  Please  permit  me  the  pleasure  of  grasping  every 
lady’s  hand,”  and  this  he  insisted  on  doing,  making  some  pleasant 
remark  to  each  of  the  leaders  and  presenting  a  magnificent  rose 
to  almost  every  lady  present,  although  some  cross-looking  poli¬ 
ticians  seated  on  the  sofas  around  the  great  reception  room 
looked  disgusted  that  a  “parcel  of  women”  should  take  up  so 
much  time,  and  some  of  them  had  so  little  grace  as  to  make  some 
such  observation  within  hearing  of  the  delegates.  President 
Arthur  did  not  reply  to  my  little  speech,  save  with  the  elo¬ 
quence  of  his  rarely  attractive  smile. 

We  went  down  to  Mt.  Vernon  on  the  day  after  the  Washing¬ 
ton  Convention  closed  ;  we  planted  there  a  tree  near  the  tomb  of 
the  great  chief,  each  delegate  throwing  on  a  bit  of  earth,  Miss 
Narcissa  White  (now  Mrs.  Kinney)  making  an  ofthand  speech 
and  all  of  us  singing,  “  My  country,  ’tis  of  thee.” 

In  Philadelphia  the  convention  visited  the  grave  of  Dr.  Ben¬ 
jamin  Rush,  the  first  American  writer  on  the  evils  of  intemper¬ 
ance,  who,  in  1785,  sent  out  his  famous  essay,  frohi  which  returned 
to  him  the  loud  echoes  of  Hyman  Beecher’s  sermons  and  the  or¬ 
ganization  of  the  first  temperance  society,  at  Moreau,  in  Saratoga 
County,  New  York,  in  1808  ;  bread  cast  upon  the  waters  to  be 
found  after  many,  many  days.  Beside  this  honored  grave  a  tree 
was  planted  and  a  marble  tablet  placed,  with  the  record  of  our 
visit,  Edward  S.  Morris,  the  well  known  Quaker  philanthropist, 
helping  us  with  this  enterprise  and  bearing  the  expense  thereof. 

From  Louisville  most  of  the  delegates  went  to  che  Mammoth 
Cave,  where  we  began  the  building  of  a  white  ribbon  cairn,  each 
of  us  gathering  a  stone  for  the  fast-rising  heap,  and  leaving  in¬ 
structions  that  all  of  like  faith  with  us  should  follow  that  exam¬ 
ple,  and  so  place  an  object-lesson  of  temperance  before  all  visitors  in 
that  weird  sanctuary.  Our  little  ‘  ‘  golden  cornetist  ’  ’  from  the  state 
of  Maine,  Mrs.  F.  A.  Bent,  a  niece  of  our  beloved  Mrs.  Stevens, 
woke  the  echoes  of  the  cave  while  we  ^ang  our  favorite  hvmns. 


488 


“  De  World  Do  Moved' 


At  Nashville  the  convention  visited  Mrs.  President  Polk, 
the  widow  of  James  K.  Polk,  whose  grave  is  in  the  grounds  in 
front  of  her  stately  home.  In  1881  I  had  suggested  that  the  por¬ 
trait  of  this  accomplished  lady  of  the  old  regime  ought  to  adorn 
the  White  House,  and  had  started  the  subscription  for  that  pur¬ 
pose  after  my  first  visit  to  the  South.  The  enterprise  was  suc¬ 
cessful,  and,  so  far  as  I  know,  this  is  the  first  united  work  of 
Northern  and  Southern  women  in  our  day.  Mrs.  Polk  has  been 
a  dear,  kind  friend  to  me,  and  she  received  our  delegates  with  the 
utmost  cordiality,  although  in  her  eighty-seventh  year. 

Among  the  pleasant  tokens  of  a  growing  spirit  of  tolerance, 
I  would  like  to  record  that  we  have  had  public  meetings  under  the 
auspices  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.,  especially  in  the  South,  where  be¬ 
sides  the  usual  varieties  of  religion  represented  by  the  Protestant 
clergy,  we  have  had  on  the  platform  the  Catholic  priest  and  the 
Jewish  rabbi,  all  meeting  in  harmony  and  evincing  the  sincerest 
interest  in  the  work  of  the  white  ribboners. 

I  have  spoken  repeatedly  in  Episcopal  churches,  but  never 
as  yet  stood  in  one  of  their  pulpits.  I  was  invited  to  speak  in  a 
Catholic  church  on  Saturday  night,  with  the  explicit  statement 
that  as  it  was  new  and  not  to  be  dedicated  until  the  next  day,  my 
speaking  would  not  be  a  desecration  !  This  invitation  I  declined. 

My  good  friend,  John  Campbell,  a  Catholic  lawyer  in  Phila¬ 
delphia,  invited'me  to  .speak  before  the  Total  Abstinence  Society 
of’ his  church  in  the  Cathedral  Hall,  not  the  Cathedral  itself,  on 
Sunday  afternoon.  I  went  with  my  friend  and  hostess,  Mrs.  J.  R. 
Jones,  president  of  our  local  auxiliary.  We  were  invited  to  seats 
upon  the  platform.  When  the  priest  entered  every  person  in  the 
hall  rose.  I  was  sorry  to  feel  that  the  good  father’s  response  to  the 
introduction  to  me  was  not  specially  cordial,  although  courteous. 
After  speaking  half  an  hour  I  was  obliged  to  leave,  on  account  of 
an  engagement  to  meet  a  local  assembly  of  the  Knights  of  Labor, 
when,  behold  !  as  I  took  my  departure,  every  mortal  stood  up, 
as  he  had  done  for  the  priest.  And  they  all  Catholics,  and  I  a 
Methodist  sister  ! 

In  St.  George  s  Hall,  Philadelphia,  where  in  1885  we  cele¬ 
brated  the  one  hundredth  year  since  the  publication  of  Dr.  Rush’s 
essay,  this  same  John  Campbell  presided  at  the  meeting  when  the 
work  of  the  churches  in  the  temperance  reform  was  the  subject, 


A  Boy's  Petition. 


489 


and  it  was  curious  indeed  to  hear  him  call  a  distinguished  doctor 
to  the  stand  to  report  for  the  Presbyterians,  and  other  eminent 
ministers  for  the  Baptist,  Methodist  and  the  various  Protestant 
societies.  At  the  close  of  this  meeting,  Father  Cleary,  a  Catholic 
priest,  who  devotes  himself  to  the  temperance  work,  was,  at  my 
request,  called  upon  to  pronounce  the  benediction.  I  do  not  know 
of  any  other  cause  that  would  so  have  melted  away  the  prejudice 
of  centuries ;  temperance  is  indeed  the  Greatheart  among 
reforms. 

I  have  been  asked  to  speak  before  the  Presbyterian  Social 
Union  of  my  own  city,  which  was  certainly  a  liberal-minded 
thing  for  those  good  conservatives  to  do,  also  before  the 
Congregational  Club  in  New  York  City,  wdiere  Dr.  Buckley 
and  I  appeared  on  opposite  sides  of  the  great  question  of 
woman’s  ballot,  and  Rev.  Leonard  Bacon  fired  his  brilliant 
sky-rockets  in  opposition  to  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  and  the  prohi¬ 
bition  movement. 

The  young  men  of  Beloit  College,  which,  sorrowful  to  relate, 
does  not  admit  women,  were  gracious  enough  to  invite  me  to 
speak  at  Commencement,  in  1878,  before  the  Archaean  Society, 
of  which  my  brother  was  a  leading  member  away  back  in  1859. 
I  thought  this  a  hopeful  token,  and  my  ears  are  always  intent  to 
hear  that  the  girls  have  been  admitted  to  this,  and  to  all  other 
colleges  throughout  the  nation. 

One  summer  I  went  to  Redding  Ridge,  Conn.,  some  miles 
off  the  railroad,  expecting  to  have  a  week  in  the  country,  busy, 
indeed,  with  my  pen,  but  entirely  free  from  interruption  or  the 
necessity  of  public  speaking.  On  the  very  first  evening,  as  I 
sat  contentedly  on  the  piazza  listening  to  the  fascinating  chorus 
of  the  forest,  a  bright  boy  of  twelve  leaned  against  the  post  in 
front  of  me  and  said,  “  Don’t  you  make  speeches,  sometimes?” 
“Yes,  my  lad,”  I  answered,  “but  I  came  up  hereto  getaway 
from  seeing  people.”  “But  I  think  you  ought  to  .speak,”  he 
said  ;  “  don’t  you  notice  how  many  orchards  there  are,  and  a  good 
deal  of  cider  is  made  up  here,  and  the  people  who  drink  it  get 
very  cross.  I  think  it  is  as  ugly  a  drink  as  ever  was  made.”  It 
occurred  to  me  that  I  would  see  if  he  was  really  in  earnest,  so  I 
replied : 


490 


Bessie' s  Reason. 


“When  a  boy  asks  me  to  speak  it  is  hard  for  me  to  decline,  more 
so  than  it  would  be  for  almost  any  other  sort  of  a  person,  because 
I  think  boys  have  so  many  temptations,  and  I  am  so  glad  when 
they  are  friends  of  temperance.  But  would  you  not  rather  have 
me  speak  on  the  pyramids  ?  I  traveled  in  Egypt  some  years  ago,  * 
and  climbed  that  tallest  pyramid  of  all,  named  Cheops,  nearly  five 
hundred  feet  high.  On  the  top  of  it  I  gathered  some  bits  of  mor¬ 
tar,  older  than  Abraham,  and  I  have  pictures  and  diagrams  with 
which  I  can  illustrate  my  lecture.  Don’t  you  think  that  would 
be  more  entertaining  to  the  people  ?”  Ned’s  bright  eyes  danced 
at  the  thought  of  such  an  evening.  I  said,  “Don’t  you  expect 
some  day  to  see  the  pyramids?’’  “Oh,  yes,”  he  answered,  “I 
expect  to  see  all  there  is  to  be  seen  one  of  these  days.  And  since 
I  am  a  temperance  boy  it  would  be  right  for  me  to  hear  that  lec¬ 
ture,  but  then  I  think  about  our  people,  and  how  much  they  need  to 
have  you  talk  of  temperance,  so  temperance  let  it  be.”  Of  course 
there  was  nothing  else  to  do,  and  Ned  rode  up  and  down,  over 
hills  and  through  valleys,  drumming  up  an  audience,  so  that  on 
Sunday  afternoon  the  old  church  was  packed  with  people  who 
came,  some  of  them  in  wagons,  some  in  great  loads  with  a  hay 
rack  to  enlarge  the  wagon,  now  and  then  some  in  carriages,  others 
in  carts,  many  on  foot,  and  I  wondered  if  we  should  not  see  some 
man  rolling  his  children  along  in  a  wheelbarrow.  It  was  a  very 
interesting  and  unusual  audience.  I  talked  as  best  I  could,  plead¬ 
ing  for  total  abstinence,  and  at  the  close  brought  out  the  muster 
roll  of  the  temperance  army,  the  total  abstinence  pledge,  and  asked 
how  many  would  enroll  their  names.  A  grand  response  was 
given,  and  at  the  close  whom  should  I  see  coming  demurely  along 
the  aisle  but  little  Bessie,  a  sweet  child  of  six  years  old,  who  was 
under  my  care  at  the  time  for  a  short  outing.  I  can  see  her  yet 
in  her  white  dress  and  blue  ribbons  and  little  white  shoes  as  she 
stood  before  me.  I  laid  my  hand  on  her  young  head  and  said, 
“I  did  n’t  ask  y ou  to  come,  because  I  thought  your  mamma  would 
think  you  were  too  young  to  put  your  name  down  on  the  pledge. 
Do  you  understand  what  it  means,  my  child  ?”  And  I  shall  never 
forget  how  her  little  face  lighted  up  with  the  words,  “I  sign  not 
for  myself  so  much,  but  at  home  I  have  a  little  brother,  Artie,  he 
is  only  four  years  old,  and  when  he  grows  to  be  a  man  you  said 


Suffrage  Talk  in  Dr.  Bushnell' s  Pulpit '.  491 

that  folks  would  ask  him  to  go  into  the  saloon  and  drink,  and  I 
thought  maybe  if  he  knew  I  signed  the  pledge  it  would  help  him, 
so  I  want  to  sign  for  an  example.”  Could  a  better  reason  have 
been  given  ? 

I  was  to  speak  in  the  Congregational  church  in  Hartford,  that 
had  rejoiced  in  the  preaching  of  that  wonderful  man,  Dr.  Horace 
Bushnell,  for  many  years.  The  present  pastor  was  himself  a 
genius,  Dr.  Nathaniel  Burton,  one  of  America’s  latter-day 
saints.  Meeting  him  in  his  study  just  before  the  service,  I  said, 
“Doctor,  I  am  a  great  admirer  of  Horace  Bushnell  and  have  read 
everything  he  wrote.  My  reverence  for  his  memory  is  such  that 
every  leaf  on  the  pathway  of  Bushnell  Park  seems  to  me  worthy 
to  be  preserved  in  an  herbarium.  I  have  visited  his  home,  been 
received  with  the  utmost  courtesy  by  his  accomplished  wife,  rev¬ 
erently  entered  his  study  where  he  wrote  that  marvel  among  books, 
‘Nature  and  the  Supernatural,’  and  glanced  out  of  the  window 
upon  the  beautiful  scenes  that  soothed  his  mind  while  he  devoted 
himself  to  his  gigantic  tasks.  His  book,  on  the  ‘Reform  against 
Nature,’  opposing  woman’s  ballot,  has,  of  course,  afflicted  me,  and 
though  it  seems  an  impertinence,  I  thought  I  should  be  glad  to 
speak  of  woman’s  suffrage  as  a  means  of  home-protection  from  the 
saloon  curse,  in  this  very  pulpit,  from  which  Dr.  Bushnell  used 
to  fling  his  varied  thunder-bolts.  ’  ’ 

“Do  so  by  all  means,”  was  the  Doctor’s  answer. 

“But  I  would  not  if  it  would  in  anywise  embarrass  you,”  I 
said;  “your  people  might  not  like  it.” 

“Dike  it,”  he  answered,  “I  don’t  care  a  continental  whether 
they  do  or  not.  If  they  don’t  like  it,  that  is  the  very  best  reason  in 
the  world  why  they  should  hear  you  tell  what  makes  you  differ  from 
them.”  So  we  went  into  the  church,  ascended  the  elegant  pulpit, 
and  I  saw  over  at  my  right  a  bust  of  the  philosopher  whose  mighty 
spirit  seemed  to  brood  in  the  very  atmosphere.  Dr.  Burton  was  a 
mischievous  man,  and  he  whispered  to  me  softly,  “Mrs.  Horace 
Bushnell  sits  well  up  toward  the  front.”  Under  these  interesting 
circumstances  I  gave  my  argument,  nor  can  I  say  that  I  felt  any 
special  embarrassment,  for  I  believed  in  my  cause. 

After  a  long,  dusty  ride  on  a  summer’s  day,  I  arrived  in  a 
famous  Hudson  river  town,  which  shall  be  nameless,  and  was 


492  Temperance  Women  are  Total  Abstainers, 

taken  to  the  elegant  home  of  an  Episcopal  lady  who  had  vol¬ 
unteered  to  entertain  me.  No  sooner  had  I  reached  my  beautiful 
and  quiet  room,  than  the  hostess,  who  had  greeted  me  at  the  door, 
came  in,  saying  earnestly,  ‘  ‘Will  you  not  allow  me  to  send  you  up  a 
glass  of  wine  ?  You  must  be  very  tired  after  your  journey.’  ’  The 
blood  flushed  in  cheek  and  brow  as  I  said  to  her,  “Madam,  200,- 
000  women  would  lose  somewhat  of  their  faith  in  humanity  if  I 
should  drink  a  drop  of  wine.”  And  I  pointed  to  my  white  rib¬ 
bon,  saying,  “This  is  the  .sign  between  us.”  The  lady’s  eyes 
filled  with  tears  and  she  impressively  begged  my  pardon,  and 
begged  me  to  understand  that  in  her  home  wine  was  not  used  as 
a  beverage,  beat  a  hasty  retreat  from  my  room,  and  with  her  fam¬ 
ily  showed  me  the  utmost  kindness  and  consideration  throughout 
my  stay.  It  was  difficult  for  me  to  understand  how  she  came  to  ask 
such  a  question  of  me.  I  know  that  the  popular  belief  is  that 
temperance  men  who  speak  are  not  always  invulnerable,  but  I  am 
confident  this  is  a  libel  on  these  men  and  largely  originates  in  the 
saloon.  Evidently  this  lady  lived  in  a  world  so  different  from  my 
own  that  it  did  not  occur  to  her  that  a  temperance  woman  was  a 
total  abstainer! 

A  party  of  fashionable  young  gentlemen  and  ladies  came  into 
the  Palmer  House  restaurant  from  Me  Vieker’sTheatre  one  night, 
and  sat  down  at  the  table  next  to  that  at  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barnes 
and  I  were  taking  an  oyster  stew,  after  a  temperance  meeting.  The 
young  people  ordered  supper.  One  of  the  young  men  spoke  to 
the  head  waiter,  who  disappeared  and  soon  returned  with  a 
long-necked  wine  bottle,  whereupon  the  handsomest  of  the  elegant 
trio  of  American  girls  said  quickly,  “I  am  sure,  gentlemen,  you 
will  respect  our  wishes  not  to  have  wine.  We  belong  to  the  Young 
Women’s  Temperance  League  of  Cleveland.”  “Yes,  let  us  have 
lemonade  instead,”  said  the  gentle  young  lady  beside  her.  “Very 
well,  it  shall  be  as  you  wish,”  assented  the  gentleman  courteously, 
and  they  were  soon  discussing  the  play  over  a  thoroughly  temper¬ 
ance  repast.  My  heart  smote  me,  for  I  had  said  to  myself, 

‘  ‘These  young  theatre-goers  naturally  enough  take  wine,  ’  ’  when 
behold,  they*  were  as  staunch  as  the  most  strenuous  church-goer 
in  all  the  land. 


Sweeter  than  any  sung 
My  songs  that  found  no  tongue. 
Nobler  than  any  fact 
My  wish  that  failed  of  act.” 

—  Whittier. 


“Not  by  the  page,  word 

PAINTED, 

IyET  LIFE  BE  BANNED  OR 
SAINTED. 

Deeper  than  written 

SCROLL 

The  colors  of  the  soul. 


WHAT  I  HAVE  DONE  AND  SUFEERED  AS  A  PEN-HOLDER. 


I  was  early  encouraged  by  my  parents  to  keep  a  daily  rec¬ 
ord,  not  of  events  only,  but  of  commentary  as  well.  A  short 
time  previous  to  entering  the  Woman’s  College  in  Milwaukee 
(1857),  I  began  to  branch  out  in  this  direction  largely,  and  con¬ 
tinued  to  do  so  right  on  through  my  student  and  teacher  years, 
writing  so  steadily  during  the  nearly  two  years  and  a  half  that  I 
spent  abroad,  that  I  have  about  twenty  volumes  of  note-books 
filled  out  during  that  period.  It  is  a  token  of  my  good  health 
that  I  was  able  to  do  this  writing  anywhere,  on  the  cars,  on 
steamers,  and  on  horseback,  besides  constantly  contributing  to 
papers  at  home. 

I  was  taught  by  my  mother  to  read  out  of  a  tiny  juvenile 
paper,  no  longer  than  a  postal  card,  entitled,  “The Slave’s  Friend.’’ 
The  little  bound  copy  lies  before  me  now,  marked  at  my  favorite 
articles.  There  are  two  childish  pencil  strokes  at  the  following, 
and  as  I  read  it  over  I  smile  at  its  current  value — something 
above  all  else  dear  to  the  journalistic  mind — if  only  the  word 
“  slavery  ”  be  changed  to  “  temperance.” 

LITTLE  DANIEL. 

Daniel. — Mr.  W.  is  going  to  give  a  lecture  this  evening,  papa,  in  the 
school-house,  on  slavery.  May  n’t  I  go  hear  him  ? 

Mr.  Tracy. — Go  to  hear  him  !  No,  indeed,  you  shall  not.  I  am  glad 
they  would  not  let  him  have  the  meeting-house. 

D. — I  am  told,  father,  that  he  is  a  very  good  'man,  and  a  very  interest¬ 
ing  lecturer.  May  I  ask  why  you  will  not  permit  me  to  hear  him  ? 

Mr.  T. — Why?  Because  he  is  a  fanatic,  an  incendiary,  a  brawler,  a 
cut-throat,  a  fool.  I  hate  him. 

D. — O  papa  !  When  he  published  his  report  on  manual  labor  schools, 
don’t  you  remember  that  you  said  it  was  the  most  sensible  pamphlet  you 
had  ever  read,  and  that  the  author  was  one  of  the  wisest  and  best  young 
men  in  this  country  ? 

Mr.  T. — Did  I  ?  Well,  I  had  forgotten  that  I  ever  said  so.  But  he  is 
doing  more  hurt  than  he  ever  did  good. 

(493) 


494 


My  Pet  Book. 


D. — They  say  lie  is  a  temperance  man,  a  peace-maker,  a  friend  to 
liberty,  and  you  have  said  he  was  a  wise  and  good  man  ;  how  then  can  he 
be  a  fool,  or  a  fanatic,  or  a  cut-throat,  or  an  incendiary,  father  ? 

Mr.  T. — Wherever  he  goes  there  are  mobs  ;  and  there  will  be  one  here, 
or  I  am  mistaken.  I  have  said  so  a  dozen  times  to-day. 

D. — Is  not  that  the  way,  sir,  to  get  up  a  mob?  and  how  is  Mr.  W.  to 
blame  if  people  will  stir  up  mobs  instead  of  going  to  hear  him  lecture  ? 

Mr.  T.— Go  to  bed,  Daniel;  you  are  too  young  to  talk  about  such 
things  ;  if  you  don’t  take  care  you  will  be  just  such  a  fanatic  as  this  Mr.  W. 
before  you  are  much  older. 

D. — Good  night,  papa  ;  but  you  have  forgotten  you  once  told  me,  after 
Mr.  W.  had  made  an  address  in  our  Sabbath-school,  that  you  hoped  to  see 
me  just  such  a  man. 

Mr.  T. — Did  I?  But  you  need  not  remember  everything  I  say. 

D. — No,  father  !  I  will  not  if  it  displeases  you. 

Early  impressions  are  made  on  a  memory  that  is  “wax  to 
receive  and  marble  to  retain,”  so  I  ma}^  justly  say  that  I  owe  to 
journalism  in  the  shape  of  that  little  anti-slavery  paper,  my  ear¬ 
liest  impulse  to  philanthropy  and  much  of  the  fearlessness  as  a 
reformer  that  has  surprised  me  no  less  than  my  friends.  I  liked 
nothing  so  well  as  to  go  away  alone  and  read  this  little  book,  the 
bound  volume  having  been  given  me  by  Mary  Thome,  daughter 
of  the  well-known  Oberlin  professor.  I  often  vexed  my  playmates 
because  I  preferred  it  to  doll,  doll-dishes  or  doll-clothes.  But  my 
mother’s  favorite  paper  was  The  Mother' s  Assista?it,  published  in 
Boston,  and  filled  with  hints  and  helps  for  the  Christian  nurture 
of  children,  so  I  read  that  at  a  tender  age.  My  father’s  paper 
was  The  Oberlin  Evangelist ,  and  as  I  looked  up  to  him  as  the 
greatest  of  men,  I  pried  into  its  pages,  determined  to  know  what 
he  found  there  that  held  his  steady  gaze  so  long.  President 
Charles  G.  Finney’s  sermons  seemed  to  be  the  main  thing,  and 
my  little  mind  had  many  a  fright  and  untold  “  horror  of  great 
darkness,  ”  as  I  read  the  tremendous  terrors  of  the  law  therein  set 
forth.  My  older  brother  had  for  his  own,  The  Youth' s  Cabinet , 
the  chief,  if  not  the  only,  juvenile  paper,  that  was  to  a  genera¬ 
tion  ago  what  St.  Nicholas  and  The  Youth' s  Companion  are  to 
this.  There  I  learned  a  love  for  natural  science,  outdoor  sports, 
and  story  reading.  The  first  time  that  I  was  ever  mentioned  in 
a  paper  was  when  about  four  years  old,  and  it  was  not  in  a  fash¬ 
ion  calculated  to  excite  my  vanity  or  my  dear  mother’s,  either, 
for  we  were  therein  held  up  not  as  an  example,  but  as  a  warning. 


Father' s  Political  Papers. 


495 


The  article  was  by  Prof.  George  Whipple,  of  Oberlin  College, 
and  published  in  The  Mother’ s  Assistant.  His  wife  had  been  to 
see  us,  and  my  mother,  after  the  immemorial  manner  of  our  mater¬ 
nal  relatives,  told  her  something  I  had  said,  then  changed  the 
subject.  Whereupon  I  left  my  play,  drew  my  little  cricket 
to  mother’s  feet,  seated  myself  with  elbows  on  her  knee,  and 
piped  out  with  intense  interest,  “  Oh,  mother,  tell  the  lady  some¬ 
thing  more  that  I’ve  done  !”  I  think  it  was  a  good  lesson,  for 
my  mother  was  not  given  to  that  defect  in  training  thereafter ; 
I  mean,  not  “before  company,”  for  she  always  praised  us  im¬ 
mensely  in  private  for  every  good  thing  we  tried  to  do,  and  when 
we  were  not  good,  her  chief  weapon  with  which  to  restore  us  to 
our  right  minds  was,  “I  wonder  where  my  nice  little  girl  has 
gone  ?  She  was  so  helpful  and  polite,  but  this  scowling  little 
thing  must  have  been  left  here  by  a  peddler  or  a  witch.” 

When  I  was  in  my  seventh  year,  we  removed  to  Wisconsin 
overland,  in  “prairie  schooners,”  going  ten  years  ahead  of  the 
railroad.  But  to  our  isolated  farm,  came  The  Morning  Star 
and  The  Myrtle  from  our  life-long  friend,  the  wife  of  David 
Marks,  that  famous  “  Boy  Preacher  ”  of  the  Free  Will  Baptist 
Church  ;  the  Natio?ial  Era  in  which,  when  eleven  years  of  age, 
I  read  and  wept  over  “  Uncle  Tom’s  Cabin  ;  ”  The  Ladies'  Repos¬ 
itory,  then  edited  by  Rev.  Dr.  B.  F.  Tefft,  whose  historical  story, 
“The  Shoulder  Knot,”  fascinated  my  brother  and  me,  who  were 
never  permitted  to  read  novels  ;  and  the  Horticulturist  of  that 
artist  in  landscape  gardening,  A.  J.  Downing,  whose  death  by  a 
steamboat  accident  upon  the  Hudson  River  smote  us  almost  like 
a  personal  bereavement.  We  had  also  The  Agriculturist  and  The 
Prairie  Farmer.  Later  on,  we  had  Putnam' s  Magazine  and  Har¬ 
per' s  Monthly,  besides  our  own  church  papers,  The  New  York  and 
Northwestern  Christian  Advocates.  All  these  we  children  were  en¬ 
couraged  to  read,  but  “father’s  political  papers  ”  were  by  him 
declared  to  be  to  us  unlawful.  He  kept  them  out  of  sight  .so  far  as 
possible,  and  asserted  with  strong  emphasis  that  he  “  did  n’t  want 
his  family,  and,  above  all,  his  women  folks,  to  know  about  any¬ 
thing  so  utterly  detestable  as  politics.”  Meanwhile,  he  was  a  good 
Democrat,  an  active  politician,  and  a  man  of  the  highest  honor 
and  integrity.  Therefore,  I  reasoned  that  politics  could  n’t 
possibly  be  so  bad  or  else  he  would  n’t  so  greatly  relish  being  in 


/ 


49^  White  Wings  that  Fly  to  “  Forest  Home.” 

them,  and  the  one  particular  in  which  I  disobeyed  my  father  was 
in  getting  and  reading  those  papers  with  the  utmost  particular¬ 
ity  on  every  practicable  occasion.  I  found  myself  to  be  indeed 
“  a  chip  of  the  old  block,”  for  these  political  papers  were  more 
attractive  to  me  than  any  others.  The  Democratic  Standard ,  its 
politics  and  candidates,  were  subjects  of  great  interest,  and,  later 
on,  S.  M.  Booth’s  Milwaukee  Free  Press  was  more  to  me  than  any 
partisan  paper  has  been  since,  until  the  era  of  the  New  York  Voice. 
John  P.  Hale  and  George  W.  Julian  visited  the  neighboring  town 
of  Janesville  and  my  mother  would  go  to  hear  them  speak,  Oliver 
acting  as  her  escort ;  returning  late  at  night  from  her  unexampled 
adventure  she  found  us  all  up  and  waiting  ‘  ‘  to  hear  the  argu¬ 
ments.”  My  father  forsook  the  Democrats,  erelong,  and  joined 
the  “Barn  burners,”  Free-soilers  and  Republicans,  all  parts  of 
one  tremendous  whole. 

I  read  Benton’s  “  Thirty  Years  in  the  United  States  Senate,” 
and  the  great  Missouri  Senator  made  a  strong  impression  on  my 
mind,  but  we  were  all  Fremonters,  and  my  brother’s  first  vote 
was  cast  for  the  hero  of  the  day,  the  fearless  “Pathfinder.”  It 
was  journalism  that  tracked  us  into  the  wilderness,  kept  us  com¬ 
pany  in  our  isolation,  poured  into  our  minds  the  brightest 
thoughts  of  the  best  thinkers,  and  made  us  a  family  of  rural 
cosmopolites.  It  was  journalism  that  developed  in  us  the  passion 
of  patriotism  and  the  insight  into  politics  as  the  arena  of  loftiest 
philanthropic  achievement.  Our  college-bred  neighbor,  Professor 
Hodge,  who  came  west  ten  years  later  than  ourselves,  was  a 
devotee  of  the  New  York  Tribune ,  and  we  had  the  reading  of 
that  paper  in  Horace  Greeley’s  day,  when  it  was  the  friend  of 
human  freedom,  and  not  flung  from  a  tall  tower,  wherein, 

‘  ‘  The  spirit  above  is  a  spirit  of  sin, 

And  the  spirit  below  is  the  spirit  of  gin.” 

What  wonder  that  to  us,  upon  our  prairie  farm,  one  mile  from 
any  neighbor  and  several  miles  from  anywhere,  the  white  wings 
of  the  press  flying  in,  so  broad,  so  free  and  manifold,  seemed  like 
kind  visitants  from  some  great  fairyland  that  we  were  bent  ‘on 
seeing  and  living  in,  ourselves,  in  the  sweet  “sometime”  of  our 
expectant  dreams  ! 

My  brother  Oliver  had  decided  literary  talent  and  early 
declared  his  purpose  and  desire  to  be  an  editor.  I  remember  an 


/< 


w 


'n%t  6'i*Zi  cc  *^zJ2z<^  &Z  y  ia^u*0  y*  e>^- 

sH#  rHSZA*J>4 


<V>- 


/< 

L&» 

-n^CyJi  s.s  VT-TT'.  && 


”2^/ 


Cn^bP- 
£&l^3>iLsC'£~£i  z^y^ 


^  C  — <z^*£  ^>2^  x  0^’- 

^-P^py  C_  ^LP*  /^CL 


S' 


W  Zi-o* 


GA - 


^*-cZ 


\t*r  . 


Z^^rr 


^r^^Xypx^  25^*  'y^hha 


a 


J* 


^  ^  ^  ^  ^s^=_  tr^^_  ^  ^  ^  ^ 

^ <Ptir^*^  <*-  '~zy^T  K  c?t yx  -yf^^ 

d^x^ty  oy  '/• 

-4^^r  'H'l^//^  t*U  <ry^  Z^. 

py^yy  y  1  ■**-,-  z*t<  yp  y  -yPi 

— Z^ry  (^ /\^c-  j^i.t^Cy  — 2^; 

ZZ  tP'*^-'1-  ^6;  'VZj,  •-  "V"  - 

^  ^  ^C^vC^L  Z2S£*r 


^l^'l^fcy^y^ £l^ 

~*€c. 


y? 


£ 


— o 


first  COMPOSITION.  (Fac  5m»fe.) 


First  Literary  “  Contribution .”  ' 


497 


article  lie  wrote  for  the  college  magazine  when  he  was  about 
twenty-one,  and  how  much  my  emulation  was  stirred  by  its  open¬ 
ing  sentence,  which  was  as  follows  :  “I  believe  in  metempsycho¬ 
sis,  yet  I  am  not  a  Hindu,  nor  a  worshiper  of  the  sacred  ibis.” 
“  Oh,”  I  thought,  “  if  1  could  only  roll  out  words  after  that  man¬ 
ner  !”  But  it  was  not  for  women;  so  far  as  I  then  knew,  no 
woman  had  ever  dared  aspire  to  such  a  thing.  Sarah  Josepha 
Hale  had  done  so,  beginning  as  far  back  as  1828,  but  we  were 
oblivious  of  one  who,  however  gifted,  had  got  no  farther  than  to 
edit  “  a  woman’s  fashion  paper.” 

I  do  not  remember  trying  to  reduce  my  ideas  to  writing  until 
I  wTas  about  eleven  years  old,  at  which  time  Miss  Burdick,  the  first 
teacher  that  I  ever  had,  herself  a  young  lady  under  twenty  years, 
told  me  that  I  must  write  a  composition  once  in  two  weeks  in  the 
little  school  of  six  or  eight  pupils  that  used  to  assemble  around 
a  big  table  made  for  us  by  father,  in  what  was  afterwards  the 
parlor  of  our  home.  I  had  run  wild  out-of-doors,  and  had  written 
so  little  that  it  was  a  formidable  undertaking,  not  so  much  to 
think  as  to  write  down  my  thoughts.  I  had  an  unlimited  enthu¬ 
siasm  for  pets,  and  just  then  was  making  a  live  doll  out  of  my  pet 
kitten,  so  I  thought  it  would  be  the  easiest  thing  to  write  upon  a 
subject  with  which  I  was  acquainted,  and  which  had  fascinations 
for  me.  This  famous  production  is  given  here,  for  I  feel  sure  the 
actual  experience  of  that  first  composition  may  bring  a  waft  of 
cheer  to  some  white  ribboner,  boy  or  girl,  by  whom  pen  and 
paper  are  as  little  loved  as  they  were  by  me  at  that  age. 

At  our  farm,  named  by  us  “  Forest  Home,  ”we  established 
a  paper  called  The  Tribune ,  with  three  columns  to  the  page, 
nicely  ruled  off  for  us  by  mother,  and  filled  in  with  exceedingly 
“  fine  work  ”  in  the  way  of  penmanship,  not  forgetting  an  occa¬ 
sional  drawing  that  would  have  been  more  satisfactory  if  labeled. 
Mother  contributed  poetry,  my  brother  wrote  the  ‘  ‘  solid  arti¬ 
cles,”  and  I  did  the  “literary  part,”  the  specimen  that  has 
survived  being  a  natural  curiosity,  of  which  the  less  said  the 
better. 

When  about  fourteen  years  old,  I  first  ventured  to  send  a 
“contribution  ”  to  an  educational  paper  in  Janesville,  the  ‘ ‘ organ  ” 
of  a  classical  school  long  ago  extinct.  “  Rustic  Musings  ”  was 
the  uncooked  title  of  my  exceedingly  raw  composition.  Fife  had 


498 


Writing  by  the  Clock. 


no  charms  for  me  during  the  interval  between  the  secret  sending 
in  of  this  manuscript  by  one  of  our  hired  men,  and  the  next  issue 
of  that  paper.  My  name  I  had  not  given.  This  was  the  first 
thing  I  saw  about  myself  “in  print,”  after  that  wretched  check¬ 
ing  up  that  mother  and  I  received  in  The  Mother's  Assistant 
aforesaid : 

“  Zoe’s  ‘Rustic  Musings’  have  some  good  points,  but  we 
can  hardly  use  the  article.  Besides,  we  don’t  believe  a  lady 
wrote  it.  ‘  Ex  pede  Herculem .’  ” 

I  asked  father  what  that  Latin  quotation  meant,  and  he 
replied,  “  Hercules  is  known  by  his  foot.”  I  confided  to  mother 
what  I  had  done,  and  asked  her  what  that  Latin  meant  to  me. 
“Oh,”  she  said,  “it  means  that  the  writing  is  like  a  man’s. 
Your  father  set  most  of  your  copies  when  you  learned,  don’t  you 
remember?  Try  again,  my  child  ;  .some  time  you  wrill  succeed.” 
Soon  after,  Grace  Greenwood’s  Little  Pilgrim  was  sent  us,  and  I 
resolved  to  get  up  a  club,  for  she  said  all  wTho  did  that  would  have 
their  names  printed  in  a  list,  and  I,  so  distant  and  obscure,  found 
a  fascination  in  the  thought  that  my  name  would  be  put  in 
type,  away  in  Philadelphia,  where  the  Independence  Bell  had 
rung  out  long  ago  !  So  I  went  on  horseback,  near  and  far,  to 
get  the  names,  when,  lo,  my  own  appeared  !  but,  as  so  often 
since,  it  had  an  “  i  ”  where  “  e  ”  ought  to  have  been  ;  wdiereat  I 
lost  my  temper,  and  querulously  complained  to  mother  that  “-The 
first  editor  said  I  wrote  like  a  man,  and  the  second  spelled  my 
name  like  a  boy,  and  I  guessed  they  did  n’t  think  a  girl  could 
come  to  anything  in  this  world,  anyhow.  ’  ’ 

Not  long  after,  mother  said  to  my  brother  and  me  one  winter 
evening,  “See  who  will  write  the  best  composition  in  twenty 
minutes  by  the  clock.”  We  chose  the  fresh  and  charming  sub¬ 
ject,  “  Falling  Leaves.”  I  got  the  verdict,  it  being  one  of  those 
rare  decisions  in  favor  of  the  weak.  Encouraged  by  this  victory, 
I  sent  my  ‘  ‘  piece  ’  ’  to  the  Prairie  Farmer ,  in  Chicago,  where  it 
appeared  the  next  week,  as  follows  : 

An  autumn  zephyr  came  sighing  through  the  branches  of  a  noble  elm, 
which  stood  like  a  protecting  giant  over  my  cottage  home.  It  shook,  half 
regretfully,  I  thought,  one  tiny  bough  ;  and  down  through  the  gnarled 
branches  of  the  grand  old  tree,  fell  one,  two,  three,  dark  crimson  leaves. 

The  sight,  though  insignificant,  was  a  sad  one  to  me,  then.  It  reminded 
me  of  the  similitude  existing  between  leaves  and  mortals.  Both  wake  to  be- 


Would  Write  for  The  Atlantic  ! 


499 


ing  in  a  bright,  beautiful  world  ;  both  live  their  appointed  season,  enjoy 
their  allotted  share  of  happiness,  die  their  inevitable  death,  and  are,  alike, 
forgotten.  This  is  the  epitome,  the  simple  story,  of  everything  that  ever 
existed,  save  the  Eternal  God.  We  all  begin  life  with  bright  hopes  and 
eager  expectancy.  In  time  we  leave  the  stage  of  action  with  one  convic¬ 
tion — that  all  is  vanity. 

We  all  build  our  splendid  air  castles  ;  alas  !  how  often  have  we  seen  the 
anticipated  consummation  of  the  cherished  plans  of  some  bright  being  sud¬ 
denly  dashed  to  the  ground,  and  instead  of  the  fruition  of  those  gay  dreams, 
we  have  seen  “  The  sable  hearse  move  slowly  on,  as  if  reluctantly  it  bore 
the  young,  unwearied  form  to  that  cold  couch  which  age  and  sorrow  render 
sweet  to  man;”  and  all  of  hope  and  joy  and  happiness  for  that  peerless 
creation  has  passed  away. 

We  have  our  individual  hopes  and  fears  ;  joys  and  sorrows  ;  loves  and 
hates.  These  feelings  we  may  not  if  we  would,  impart  to  any  living  thing. 
They  are  our  own,  peculiarly  our  own. 

We  go  on  through  life.  Our  eyes  lose  the  brilliancy  of  youth  ;  our 
frames  cease  to  be  erect  and  powerful  ;  our  steps  become  slow  and  spiritless; 
our  intellects  lose  their  vigor.  Yet  we  still  cling  fondly  to  our  cherished 
schemes;  we  hope  that  we ,  at  least,  notwithstanding  the  thousands  that  have 
been  unfortunate,  may  be  successful.  Still  we  plan  and  endeavor. 

We  become  older,  feebler,  sadder.  Still  we  try.  The  cold  autumn  of  * 
our  lives  sets  in.  We  tremble  before  its  relentless  power.  Yet  we  hope  on. 
Colder  grow  the  nights,  more  cheerless  the  days.  Death,  like  the  zephyr, 
though  not  unwillingly  nor  sadly,  sweeps  with  icy  breath  across  the  now 
tender,  yielding  cord  of  our  lives  ;  he  snaps  it  rudely,  and  we  launch  forth 
into  the  vast,  unfathomable — Unknown. 

How  like  our  fate  to  that  of  the  falling  leaves!  Sad,  mournful,  dirge¬ 
like,  everything  seems  murmuring — “  Falling  Heaves.” 

No  literary  distinction,  not  even  being  solicited  to  write  for 
The  Atlcnitic — which,  I  fear,  will  never  “  transpire  ” — could  give 
me  such  a  thrill  of  joy  as  that  small  leverage  imparted  then. 

Just  here  I  will  say,  though  it  is  not  usual  to  reveal  one’s 
highest  literary  ambition,  especially  when  one  has  failed  to  attain 
it,  that  I  am  willing  to  admit  that  mine  has  been  during  the  last 
thirty  years  to  write  for  the  Atlantic  Monthly  !  The  Century , 
Harper* s,  Scribner* s,  etc.,  are  all  very  well,  but  when  I  began 
writing  for  the  press  the  Atlantic  was  the  nectar  and  ambrosia  of 
literary  people  as  well  as  of  those  who  aspired  to  be  literary,  and 
early  loves  last  longest.  I  have  written  for  Harper* s  and  had  a 
letter  in  the  Century ,  but  I  have  never  yet  dared  offer  one  to  the 
Atlantic.  Once  I  went  so  far  as  to  send  its  admired  editor, 
Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich,  a  printed  article  that  I  thought  tolerably 


500 


A  n  Exploded  ‘  ‘  Epic.  ’  ’ 


good,  that  is  for  me,  asking  him  if  he  believed  I  could  write  any¬ 
thing  the  Atlajitic  would  accept.  I  received  in  reply  a  courteous 
note  with  the  enigmatical  statement  that  he  was  unable  to  say 
from  the  article  forwarded  whether  I  could  or  not !  The  ques¬ 
tion  in  my  mind  is  now  and  ever  shall  be,  ‘  ‘  Is  that  a  compliment 
to  the  article  ?  ’  ’  This  point  I  have  never  been  able  clearly  to 
settle  for  myself,  but  one  thing  is  certain,  I  have  not  yet  recov¬ 
ered  sufficiently  from  the  shock  to  make  any  other  venture  Atlan- 
tic- ward.  But  I  give  the  cultured  editor  notice  that  though  I 
may  never  be  lifted  to  the  Olympian  heights  of  his  pages,  I  in¬ 
tend  so  to  live  that  somebody  who  is,  shall  yet  write  of  me 
between  those  magic  yellow  covers  of  the  Queen  of  Monthlies  ! 

Next  came,  in  the  same  friendly  columns  that  opened  to  me 
first,  an  offer  of  a  premium  from  the  Illinois  Agricultural  Society, 
to  consist  of  silver  cup  and  medal,  for  the  best  essay  “On  the 
Embellishment  of  a  Country  Home.”  Our  farm  had  taken  the 
prize  at  county  ^fairs  ;  it  was  a  beauty,  with  such  a  flower  garden 
*  as  careful  study  of  A.  J.  Downing  had  helped  my  tasteful  father 
to  create.  I  ‘  ‘  wrote  it  up,  ’  ’  won  the  prize,  and  danced  about  the 
house  like  a  kitten  with  a  ball. 

Of  “  poems”  I  wrote  many,  of  which,  happily,  almost  none 
have  seen  the  light.  My  “  Epic  ”  was  begun  at  nineteen. 

This  poem  I  had  the  grace  to  bestow  upon  the  flames  some 
years  ago.  It  was  nothing  less  aspiring  than  an  account  of  the 
creation  of  the  universe.  I  suppose  most  young  writers  would 
begin  at  this  point ;  it  was  my  familiar  theme  for  many  a  year. 
To  this  I  added  an  account  of  the  pre-historic  history  of  my  hero¬ 
ine,  wrho  was  the  central  figure  of  the  drama.  The  only  vestige 
which  remains  of  this  exploded  stellar  system  is  the  following  : 

Up  above  thee  smiles  no  planet, 

Far  beyond  it  gleams  no  star  ; 

Whizzes  there  no  fiery  comet ; 

Thou’st  not  known  in  ages  far. 

Going  away  to  school  soon  after,  I  was  made  editor  of  the 
college  paper,  and  some  poetic  effusions  long  since  forgotten  and 
forgiven,  appeared  in  the  Home  Journal ,  edited  by  John  F.  Eber- 
hart,  then  superintendent  of  Cook  county  schools,  with  headquar¬ 
ters  in  Chicago.  Soon  after,  this  same  gentleman  gave  me  my 
first  certificate  to  teach  (in  i860),  and  the  ferule  replaced  the 


“ Put  Money  in  Thy  Purse."  501 

pen  in  a  wild  prairie  school  at  Harlem  (near  Oak  Park),  west 
of  Chicago. 

Teaching  was  now  for  many  years  not  the  goal  of  my  ambi¬ 
tion,  but  the  necessary  ally  of  my  financial  independence.  If  I 
had  my  life  to  live  over  again,  I  would  do  differently.  I  cannot 
too  strongly  counsel  any  ardent  young  spirit  who  feels,  as  I  did, 
that  to  express  with  pen  or  voice  her  deepest  thought,  her  ruling 
love  and  purpose,  is  to  her  more  than  all  else,  not  to  be  diverted 
from  that  path  except  by  absolute  necessity.  No  such  necessity 
was  laid  on  me.  My  father  was  well  off,  ours  was  a  comfortable 
home,  we  had  now  moved  to  Evanston,  seat  of  the  Northwestern 
University,  and  the  best  minds  in  that  choice  literary  circle  were 
my  friends.  Books  without  limit  were  at  my  command,  and 
sweet,  shy  paths,  wild  groves,  and  the  anthem  of  Lake  Michigan, 
were  all  to  be  had  for  the  asking.  My  father  begged  me  to  remain 
at  home.  He  “  did  n’t  believe  that  women  were  called  on  to  earn 
money  ;  he  would  take  care  of  me  gladly — indeed,  should  feel 
compromised  if  I  set  out  to  care  for  myself.  ’  ’ 

But  I  was  a  “  free  born  ”  nature,  hence  was  determined  upon 
independence.  My  father  believed  in  the  one-purse  theory'  and  I 
felt  that  only  money  of  my  own  could  give  me  self-determining 
power.  Hence  it  was  that,  having  graduated  at  nineteen,  when 
I  was  twenty  I  proceeded,  without  leave  or  license,  to  bind  myself 
to  teach  the  hardest  school  in  the  county,  and  my  literary  paradise 
forever  closed  its  doors  on  one  who  had  loved  it,  no  words  may 
say  how  well.  But  the  ruling  passion  was  still  strong,  although 
in  death.  Editors  were  kind  to  me  and  gave  me  books  to  review, 
in  return  for  which  I  got  the  books  ;  Emery' s  Jouriial  of  Agricult¬ 
ure  sent  me  flower-seeds  and  Webster’s  Unabridged  ;  I  read  a 
great  deal,  wrote  for  The  Ladies'  Repository  once  in  awhile,  and  for 
Mr.  Sewell’s  Little  Corporal ,  even  had  an  article  in  that  most 
exigent  of  Western  papers,  the  Chicago  Tribune.  I11  the  “  Cen¬ 
tennial  Year  of  Methodism  ”  (1866),  as  corresponding  secretary  of 
the  American  Methodist  Ladies’  Centenary  Association,  I  bom¬ 
barded  our  own  church  press  with  paragraphs  and  circulars,  mak¬ 
ing  the  acquaintance  of  Zion' s  Herald ,  I  think,  at  that  date. 

When  our  good  Bishop  Wiley  edited  the  Repository ,  I  vent¬ 
ured  to  send  him  my  first  story.  It  was  along  a  new  line — so  I 
fancied — was  entitled  “Jenny  and  John;’’  had  held  me  amaz- 


502 


“To  Be  or  Not  To  Be?" 


ingly  in  the  writing,  and  I  said  to  myself,  ‘  ‘  If  this  only  succeeds, 
I’ll  give  up  independence,  go #  home  and  be  a  writer  without, 
rather  than  a  teacher  with,  money.  ”  Joy  to  the  world  !  a  letter  of 
acceptance  promptly  came  with  complimentary  allusions.  Then 
I  watched  ;  going  to  the  postoffice,  and  when  the  magazine  came 
cutting  the  index  page  impatiently  and  enduring  the  heart-tattoo 
that  every  untried  aspirant  for  literary  honors  knows  so  well,  as 
I  searched  for  my  story.  Twelve  months  passed  and  no  story 
appeared.  I  wrote  Dr.  Wiley,  asking  him  why  this  was  thus  and 
urging  the  manuscript’s  return.  He  replied  curtly  that  they 
did  n’t  undertake  to  keep  track  of  everybody’s  manuscript,  evi¬ 
dently  having  forgotten  that  he  had  once  accepted  my  poor  little 
novelette.  I  had  no  copy,  and  in  my  discouragement  I  reasoned 
thus  :  “  If  it  had  been  really  good  he  would  n’t  have  forgotten  ; 

he  is  a  great  man  and  I  am  nobody,  as  yet ;  he  has,  unwittingly, 
given  me  a  final  judgment ;  it  is  not  for  me  to  be  a  literary  woman  ; 
it  is  too  high,  I  cannot  attain  unto  it.” 

So  I  turned  aside  once  more  to  teaching,  but  at  Pittsburgh 
Female  College  and  Genesee  Wesleyan  Seminary,  wrote  essays 
for  our  church  press  and  for  the  society  papers  of  my  girls  ;  one 
address  on  “Woman’s  Lesser  Duties,”  was  my  first  “publica¬ 
tion  ”  “by  order  of  the  society. ’ ’  What  an  epoch  was  that,  my 
countrymen  !  I  was  twenty-four,  but  the  sight  of  that  pretty, 
crisp,  new  pamphlet,  with  my  name  on  the  cover,  filled  me 
with  delight. 

Going  abroad  in  May  of  1868,  and  remaining  until  the 
autumn  of  1870,  I  sent  letters  home  to  the  Chicago  Republican , 
then  edited  by  the  celebrated  Charles  A.  Dana,  author  of  the 
Cyclopedia,  and  now  proprietor  of  the  New  York  Sun.  Return¬ 
ing,  I  had  an  article  in  Harper' s  Magazine ,  wrote  for  the  New 
York  Independent  and  our  church  papers,  also  for  our  Chicago 
magazine,  The  Lakeside  Monthly ,  edited  by  F.  F.  Browne,  and 
later  on  for  The  Christian  Union ,  Sunday  School  Times ,  The  Forum 
and  a  score  of  lesser  lights. 

Meanwhile,  all  along  the  years,  I  have  been  a  writer  of  para¬ 
graphs  and  items  in  which  a  few  lines  would  set  forth  an  opinion. 
The  aggregate  of  these  would  make  volumes,  but  nearly  all 
appeared  impersonally.  When  in  the  summer  of  1874,  Henry 
W.  Adams,  of  New  York,  started  The  Morning ,  his  sunny, 


Beats  the  Lead  Pencil  Tattoo  Anywhere.  503 

sweet-spirited  paper,  that  earliest  incarnated  the  Woman’s  Cru¬ 
sade,  I  had  a  hand  in  it  as  chief  contributor.  It  was  my  first 
pen-work  for  temperance. 

When  our  W.  C.  T.  U.  launched  its  organ,  Our  U?iio?i, 
in  1875,  with  no  subscribers  and  much  faith,  I  again  “put  pen 
to  paper”  with  new-found  zeal,  trying  my  “’prentice  hand,” 
strange  to  say,  at  a  story  once  more.  It  was  entitled  “  Margaret’s 
Victory,”  but  was  declared,  after  twelve  chapters,  “  too  woman’s 
rightsy  ”  and  withdrawn  “by  order  of  the  management. ”  I  also 
wrote  (in  1875)  my  “Hints  and  Helps,”  the  first  hand-book  for 
white  ribboners.  Indeed,  since  the  Crusade  I  have  always  been 
writing  my  uppermost  thought  in  railway  stations,  Pullman  cars, 
on  convention  platforms  and  anywhere,  glad  when  it  was  chron¬ 
icled,  and  never  on  the  lookout  to  ascertain  whether  it  went  into 
the  paper  or  the  basket.  But  our  editors  have  had  loving  and  sis¬ 
terly  consideration  for  me  always.  The  Union  Signal ,  into  which 
Our  Union  was  merged  at  the  Louisville  National  Convention  in 
1882,  has  now  fifty  thousand  subscribers,  and  is  rapidly  climbing 
up  to  one  hundred  thousand.  My  sister-in-law  was  the  first  and 
Miss  Mary  Allen  West  is  its  present  editor  ;  I  have  had  more 
articles  in  its  columns  than  I  was  entitled  to  expect  or  they,  per¬ 
haps,  were  wise  to  set  before  the  public. 

As  already  stated,  my  brother,  who  had  for  years  been  editor 
of  a  daily  paper  in  Chicago,  passed  away  suddenly,  in  1878, 
leaving  the  Chicago  Evening  Post  without  a  chief,  and  his  gifted 
wife,  Mrs.  Mary  Bannister  Willard,  had  the  heroism  to  undertake 
to  save  the  paper  ;  it  was  in  the  crisis  of  reconstruction  when  my 
brother  died,  and  was  left  in  a  position  so  critical  that  no  man 
would  try  to  stem  the  tide.  I  agreed  to  stand  by  her,  and  we 
accordingly  became  the  forlorn  hope  of  an  enterprise  that  was 
running  behind  at  the  rate  of  several  hundred  dollars  a  Week,  and 
for  about  three  months,  without  fee  or  reward,  we  tried  to  hold  our 
own.  Though  briefly  mentioned  before,  I  may  be  permitted  here 
to  give  further  details  concerning  this,  the  most  novel  experience 
of  all  my  life  ;  I  found  myself  at  the  head  of  a  corps  of  twelve 
editors  and  reporters,  all  of  them  inured  to  journalism,  of  which 
I  knew  practically  nothing,  and  to  which  I  came  from  the  ardors 
and  hap-hazard  of  a  popular  temperance  campaign,  into  the  sor¬ 
rowful  inheritance  of  my  brother’s  desk,  chair,  and  dingy  city 


5°  4 


Becomes  a  Chicago  Editor . 


offices.  My  editorial  associates,  Collins  Shackelford,  James  C. 
Ambrose,  Henry  Ten  Eyck  White,  Alanson  Appleton,  and  others, 
were  most  considerate  toward  me.  They  had  loved  my  gifted, 
genial  brother  and  were  loyal  to  the  women  who  tried  to  take  up 
the  herculean  task  that  bore  him  down.  Foreman,  proof-readers, 
compositors,  and  all  the  force  of  sixty  persons  or  more  stood  by 
us  to  the  last. 

Coming  and  going,  Evanston  still  my  home,  mother  my 
home-maker,  Anna  Gordon  with  me  at  the  office,  helping  in  all 
the  ways  I  could  invent,  with  evening  engagements  to  speak  on 
temperance,  as  my  only  source  of  income,  I  felt  the  great  world- 
wave  strike  hard  against  my  life  ship,  as  it  does  far  out  at  sea. 

But  there  was  so  much  of  home  solace  and  spiritual  renew¬ 
ing  that,  though  practically  submerged,  I  do  not  remember  ever 
being  sleepless  over  the  strange,  new  work  or  the  impending 
doom.  We  had  acted  in  good  faith  and  done  our  best.  Why 
should  we  make  ourselves  sick  in  the  bargain  ?  for  health  and 
good  heart,  with  faith  in  God,  these  were  our  capital.  This  was 
not  the  first  time  that  the  inheritance  of  being  one  of  the  ‘  ‘  seven 
sleepers,”  has  carried  me  through. 

My  sister  acted  as  publisher,  for  figures — other  than  those  of 
speech — have  been  foreign  to  me  always.  She  had  helped  my 
brother  with  book  reviews  and  editorial  writing,  for  which  she 
has  especial  gift,  but  in  this  emergency  her  hand  was  on  the 
monetary  helm. 

In  our  card  to  the  public,  May,  1878,  I  declared  our  purpose 
as  follows  : 

‘  ‘  The  Post  will  be  more  than  a  buyer  and  seller  in  the  news 
mart.  It  will  aim  so  to  outline  the  story  of  the  world’s  doings 
to-day  that  the  reading  thereof  will  tend  to  make  the  world  better 
to-morrow.  It  will  address  itself  to  a  constituency  located  not  in 
bar-rooms  and  billiard  halls,  but  in  business  offices  and  homes. 
It  will  warmly  advocate  all  causes  that  tend  to  ennoble  human 
nature,  and  will  strive  always  to  express  itself  in  words  which  a 
woman  might  hear  and  speak. 

As  heretofore,  The  Post  will  be  a  political  paper,  independ¬ 
ent  and  fearless,  lending  its  influence  to  such  measures  only  as 
are  calculated  to  hasten  the  time  when  all  men’s  weal  shall  be 
each  man’s  care.  ” 


A  Woman' s  Rule  of  Journalistic  Courtesy. 


505 


I  soon  had  occasion  to  define  our  idea  of  how  to  behave  as 
editors : 

“  The  Post  wishes  to  say  here  and  now  and  once  and  for  all, 
that  its  notion  of  journalistic  courtesy  involves  the  same  princi¬ 
ples  that  govern  well-bred  persons  in  the  intercourse  of  society. 
Any  word  that  may  creep  into  these  columns  not  in  keeping  with 
this  statement,  is  hereby  disavowed  beforehand,  for  all  possible 
measures  will  be  employed  to  forestall  such  mistakes.  ” 

We  found  on  coming  into  our  thrice''  mortgaged  heritage 
that  there  were  contracts  for  advertisement  of  liquors,  proprietary 
medicines,  etc.,  such  as  we  could  not  approve,  but  as  we  had  no 
money  and  these  were  unexpired,  we  could  not  discontinue  them. 
Meanwhile,  liberal  offers  of  advertising  flowed  in  from  liquor 
dealers,  which  my  sister,  of  course,  instantly  declined.  In  face 
of  these  facts,  we  had  little  relish  for  the  ‘  ‘  moralettes  ’  ’  that  came 
to  us  in  every  day’s  mail  to  this  effect  : 


“  Dear  Ladies:  I  have  had  high  esteem  for  you,  but  certain¬ 
ly  the  advertisement  (inclosed)  that  you  persist  in  flaunting 
before  the  public,  lifts  you  very  little  above  the  lowest  journal 
istic  level.  I 
sistency.  ’ 

Anonymous. 


am  at  a  loss  to  account  for  such  flagrant  incon- 


[Signed] 


Or  this:  “You  will  please  stop  my  paper.  I  subscribed 
supposing  it  marked  a  new  era  in  journalism,  but  evidently  (see 
advt.),  ‘  the  dog  returns  to  his,’  etc. 

“  X.  Y.  Z.” 

I  verily  believe  we  had, more  letters  of  warning  and  exhorta¬ 
tion,  than  of  subscription  and  good  cheer,  during  that  most 
trying  ordeal  of  my  life.  I  used  to  say  to  myself,  “Is  it  possible 
that  I  was  once  a  happy,  care-free,  temperance  worker,  skimming 
contentedly  along  the  sea  of  life  ?  Ala£,  I  am  now  fathoms  deep 
in  the  wilderness  of  waters  and  well  nigh  suffocated,”  but  not 
enough  to  lose  my  sleep  ! 

I11  the  financial  extremity  that  tightened  around  us  every 
day,  some  leading  business  men  of  the  city  showed  us  great 
kindness  and  our  creditors  were  remarkably  considerate.  But 
this  terribly  unequal  strife  of  plus  with  minus  could  not  long 
continue.  *  I  consulted  with  my  sister  and  my  hopes,  and  then 
went  to  New  York  and  laid  our  case  before  Elizabeth  Thompson, 
the  well-known  philanthropist,  with  whom  I  had  a  most  agreeable 


506  Elizabeth  Thompson'' s  Sage  Advice* 

acquaintance.  To  obtain  an  audience  with  this  lovely  and  lov¬ 
ing-hearted  woman  is  extremely  difficult,  but  through  the  inter¬ 
cessions  of  my  loyal  hostess,  Mrs.  M.  P.  Hascall,  I  succeeded  in 
seeing  her.  So  I  laid  our  case  before  Sister  Elizabeth,  who 
listened  most  kindly,  with  pitiful  face,  and  said:  “My  dear 
friend,  if  you  had  asked  me  to  help  you  in  almost  anything  else, 
I  would  have  done  so,  but  I  dread  journalism  as  a  burnt  child 
dreads  the  fire.  Putting  money  into  a  paper  is  like  pouring 
water  into  a  sieve.  Drop  that  enterprise  before  it  beggars  you 
all.  Drop  it,  I  implore  you.  It  was  heroic,  as  you  say,  for  your 
sister  to  try;  but  no  man  would  have  tried.  ”  So  our  last  hope 
was  like  our  first,  forlorn  !  As  I  went  down  the  stairs,  after  a 
kindly  leave-taking,  Mrs.  Thompson  leaned  over  the  railing  and 
called  out : 

‘  ‘  Give  my  love  to  your  sister  and  tell  her  to  drop  that  paper 
before  she  is  a  day  older.  ’  ’  And  I  told  her.  Our  valedictory 
came  out  within  a  fortnight,  and  the  paper,  franchise  and  all,  was 
sold  at  auction  to  the  Daily  News ,  owTned  by  Victor  A.  Dawson 
and  Melville  E.  Stone. 

This  is  the  only  paper  for  which  I  ever  personally  stood 
sponsor,  and  among  the  score  of  different  positions  to  which  I 
have  been  chosen  since  my  first  official  relation  to  the  public, 
(when,  at  eighteen,  I  taught  our  district  school  near  Forest  Home) 
it  is  the  only  one  in  which  I  might  not  freely  have  continued  had 
I  chosen  so  to  do.  But  the  mandate  of  an  empty  exchequer 
drove  me  from  this,  and  there  is  no  other  fate  quite  so  impres¬ 
sive  or  inexorable.  I  thought  of  all  this  for  my  consolation  as  I 
packed  up  my  few  literary  effects  and  turned  away  forever  from 
“No.  88  Dearborn  street,”  to  resume  the  work  that  I  had 
learned  to  love  the  best. 

My  resolution  then  taken  remains  unchanged.  I  will  never 
again  be  the  responsible  head  of  any  journalistic  venture,  nor  be 
in  any  wise  financially  accountable  to  any,  save  as  a  contributor 
of  money  or  of  articles.  I  have  freely  allowed  my  name  to  be 
used  in  this  way,  as  a  matter  of  course.  When  women  asked  for 
it,  on  the  list  of  almost  any  temperance  or  philanthropic  paper, 
and  when  Joseph  Cook,  that  grand  defender  of  every  faith  sacred 
♦  to  humanity,  did  me  the  honor  to  request  my  name  for  his  maga¬ 
zine,  Our  Day,  what  could  I  say  but  “Yes”  ?  In  like  manner, 


Hands  on  the  Rocking  Stone. 


507 


when  Rev.  Dr.  Theodore  U.  Flood,  founder  of  The  Chautauquan 
and  a  firm  friend  of  woman’s  wider  opportunity,  asked  me  to 
contribute,  I  told  him  that  if  Anna  Gordon  would  make  herself 
responsible  for  me  and  would  “see  that  I  wrote,”  he  would  be 
sure  to  hear  from  me.  Out  of  that  contract  came  “  How  to  Win.” 
When  Alice  Stone  Blackwell  of  The  Woman'' s  Journal ,  asked  me 
to  be  an  occasional  contributor,  I  was  glad.  When  Alice  M. 
Guernsey  wished  me  to  write  for  our  W.  C.  T.  U.  juvenile  paper, 
The  Young  Crusader ,  I  gathered  up  the  dropped  threads  of  a  story 
begun  in  The  Little  Corporal  away  back  in  1865  at  the  instance 
of  my  friend,  Alfred  U.  Sewell,  and  unceremoniously  cut  short 
at  the  third  chapter  through  some  misunderstanding  between  us, 
and  carried  it  on  through  fifty-two  numbers,  written  “  en  route,” 
and  picturing  out  the  twelve  years  during  which  “  We,  Us  &  Com¬ 
pany  ”  lived  on  a  farm.  When  a  Hartford  publisher,  persistent 
as  the  forces  of  gravitation,  persecuted  me  with  petitions  to  write 
“  Woman  and  Temperance”  (his  own  elected  title),  and  appeared 
upon  the  scene  for  personal  interviews  until  I  saw  there  was  but 
one  alternative,  and  that  was  to  get  it  ready,  I  took  refuge  in  the 
home  of  my  staunch  sister  and  ally,  Mrs.  Hannah  Whitall  Smith, 
of  Philadelphia,  and  there  in  the  space  of  three  weeks  had  ‘  ‘  car¬ 
pentered  and  joinered  ”  a  rough  strong-box  which  has  the  single 
merit  of  enshrining  some  of  the  newly-mined  jewels  of  fact, 
which  the  stately  historian  of  the  temperance  reform  can  polish 
at  his  leisure. 

When  the  National  Convention  of  1887  asked  me  to  signal¬ 
ize  my  approaching  semi-centennial  (1889)  by  a  volume  of  per¬ 
sonal  reminiscences  and  speeches,  I  sat  me  down  to  evolve  the 
same  as  best  I  could  from  my  “internal  consciousness,”  clearing 
a  little  space  on  my  workshop  table  by  pushing  aside  so  much 
that  I  ought  to  do,  that  I  bring  to  my  present  task  a  mind  sadly 
divided.  Few  have  learned  more  thoroughly  than  I,  from  the 
things  that  they  have  suffered,  that  the  paths  of  true  literature 
are  shady  and  silent ;  as  leisurely  as  the  slow  lap  of  wavelets 
when  the  lake  is  still ;  as  secret  as  the  mossy  nooks  in  the  valleys 
of  my  old  Forest  Home.  ‘  ‘  Far  from  the  madding  crowd  ’  ’  lies  the 
pastoral  path  of  the  life  I  longed  for  most,  and  treading  whose 
piney  wood  aisles  I  might  perhaps  have  thought  out  consolations 
for  the  fierce  fighters  of  the  plain  ;  but  with  the  battle  011  and 


5°8 


“  Nineteen  Beautiful  Years.  ’  ’ 


my  own  place  chosen  for  me  at  the  front,  I  shall  never  get  beyond 
“  Notes  from  the  Saddle,”  at  least  not  until  too  old  or  too  deeply 
wounded  by  the  fray.  A  lifetime  ago,  one  who  had  wished  me 
well  and  hoped  much  from  my  future  wrote  me  thus:  “You 
always  write  with  your  left  hand  ;  I  think  when  reading  after 
you,  ‘  How  much  better  this  would  be  if  she  could  take  more 
time.’  ”  How  well  I  knew  this  was  the  truth  and  that  the  un¬ 
hasting  pen  alone  creates  the  works  that  do  not  haste  to  die  ! 

Aside  from  my  little  hand-book  of  “Hints  and  Helps,” 
written  in  1875  for  the  W.  C.  T.  U.,  the  only  book  not  asked  of 
me,  but  freely  written  out  of  hand\ and  out  of  heart,  is  “Nineteen 
Beautiful  Years,”  published  by  Harper  &  Brothers  in  1864,  re¬ 
printed  by  the  Woman’s  Temperance  Publication  Association  of 
Chicago,  to  which  I  gave  the  electrotype  plates  in  1885,  and 
brought  out  in  England,  thanks  to  the  influence  of  Mrs.  Hannah 
Whitall  Smith,  by  Morgan  &  Scott,  of  London,  publishers  of  The 
Christian.  That  little  book  said  itself — both  my  sister’s  part,  so 
unconsciously  furnished  when  she  wrote  her  girlish  journal  seen 
only  by  us  two,  and  mine — out  of  a  heart  that  spoke  aloud  its 
strange,  new  grief. 

It  was  one  year  after  she  left  us,  and  in  the  home  where  all 
of  us  were  last  together  ;  “Swampscott”  we  called  it,  on  Church 
Street,  Evanston,  the  grounds  but  not  the  house  being  those  now 
owned  by  William  Deering.  I  was  there  alone  with  mother  in 
the  summer  of  1863,  my  brother  having  married  and  gone  to 
Denver,  Col.,  my  father  being  in  the  city  all  day. 

“To  us  the  silence  in  the  house, 

To  her  the  choral  singing.” 

Never  in  this  world  could  we  all  be  again  what  my  dear 
brother  had  once  called  us  :  “A  family  unbroken  by  death,  dis¬ 
cord,  or  distance.” 

Alone  in  my  desolate  room,  so  lately  brightened  by  her 
sunny  presence,  I  prepared  the  little  volume  which  would  have 
been  larger  by  half  had  all  I  wrote  gone  in.  My  father,  who 
was  of  reticent  nature,  disapproved  the  undertaking  ;  he  hated 
publicity  for  women,  and  most  of  all  for  his  “  two  forest  nymphs,” 
as  he  used  laughingly  to  call  us.  But  for  myself  I  liked  the 
world,  believed  it  friendly,  and  could  see  no  reason  why  I  might 


First  Visit  to  New  York. 


509 


not  confide  in  it.  Besides,  it  was  more  than  I  could  brook  that 
she  should  live  and  die  and  make  no  sign — she  who  was  so  wise, 
so  sweet  and  good.  I  had  a  chivalric  impulse  to  pass  along  the 
taper  that  she  lighted  at  the  shrine  of  Truth,  even  though  her 
weary  little  hand  had  dropped  it  early  at  the  tomb. 

And  so,  when  my  manuscript  was  ready,  I  went  to  Mr.  E. 
Haskin,  who  was  then  the  leading  business  man  of  my  own 
church,  borrowed  a  hundred  dollars  and  started  for  New  York, 
under  escort  of  T.  C.  Hoag,  one  of  our  nearest  friends.  It  was 
my  first  real  outing,  and  zestful  beyond  telling.  Mr.  Hoag  never 
knew  how  grateful  I  was  for  his  kindness  in  stopping  over  a  day 
at  Buffalo  that  I  might  go  out  to  see  Niagara  Falls.  The  wonder 
of  that  revelation  roused  all  the  recklessness  for  which  I  had  been 
famed  at  Forest  Home  and  which  had  been  toned  down  by  later 
years.  The  fascination  of  the  Falls  drew  me  to  the  ragged  edge  of 
every  cliff  and  set  me  running  down  steep  banks,  so  that  Mr.  Hoag 
soon  supervened  and  took  me  into  custody.  Somehow,  the  sense 
of  God  was  with  me  on  those  heights  and  with  that  wraith-like 
form  and  thunder-voice  smiting  my  ear.  It  gives  me  satisfaction 
that,  young  and  ardent  as  I  was,  and  with  the  desire  ever  innate 
in  me  to  “wreak  myself  upon  expression,”  I  did  not  drop  into 
poetry,  nor  yet  into  prose,  in  presence  of  that  gleaming  mystery. 

The  scenery  of  the  Susquehanna  and  Chemung  was  simply 
fascinating  in  its  autumnal  garniture.  We  reached  New  York  at 
dark,  took  a  coach  for  the  St.  Nicholas  Hotel,  and  as  we  rolled 
along  Broadway  I  was  far  more  dazed  than  by  anything  in  all  my 
life  before,  except  Niagara  !  Mr.  Hoag,  though  a  merchant  on  a 
business  trip,  told  me  to  make  a  list  of  what  I  wished  to  see  and 
he  would  “  help  me  through  with  it.”  It  wras  Saturday  night. 
I  chose  Grace  Church,  Dr.  Cheever’s  and  Dr.  E.  H.  Chapin’s,  the 
first  for  its  fame,  the  .second  for  its  reformatory  spirit,  the  third  for 
its  pastor’s  eloquence.  On  Monday  we  climbed  Trinity  steeple, 
went  to  the  Battery  and  Castle  Garden,  Barnum’s,  and  Wall  Street. 
Here  Mr.  Hoag  had  to  stay  awhile,  and  he  put  me  into  a  Broad¬ 
way  stage,  telling  the  driver  to  stop  at  the  St.  Nicholas.  It  did 
not  occur  to  my  kind  friend  that  I  had  never  in  my  life  been  any¬ 
where  alone,  nor  to  me  that  my  pocket-book  was  locked  up  in  my 
trunk  at  the  hotel.  “  Ting-a-ling  ”  went  the  driver’s  bell.  I  sat 
in  sweet  unconsciousness,  studying  the  pageant  of  the  street. 


That  Generous  Jew  ! 


5TO 

“  Ting-a-ling-a-ling,”  with  vigorous  vexation.  I  gave  no  heed. 
“  Hand  up  that  fare  !  ”  he  shouted  through  an  aperture  ;  the  pas¬ 
sengers  looked  at  each  other  ;  my  face  turned  crimson.  ‘  ‘  I  have  n’t 
any  money,”  I  whispered  confidentially,  in  my  great  fright  and 
desperation,  to  a  big  Jew  with  diamond  shirt  front  and  forbidding 
countenance.  “  What  can  I  do  ?  ” 

“  Oh,  Miss,”  he  answered  kindly,  “  it’s  of  no  consequence, 
just  let  me  hand  up  the  fare  and  there’s  an  end  of  it  !  ”  At  that 
moment  his  countenance  seemed  fairly  angelic.  “You  are  so 
kind,”  I  faltered  almost  with  tears.  “Indeed,  it  is  an  honor; 
don’t  mention  it,”  he  said.  Forever  and  a  day  that  act  of  his 
made  me  think  better  of  mankind,  trust  more  in  human  nature. 
I  thanked  him  again  as  the  ’bus  pulled  up  for  me  at  the  St.  Nich¬ 
olas  ;  he  lifted  his  hat  and  was  gone,  the  great,  beak-nosed,  unmis¬ 
takable  Jew.  I  went  up  to  my  room  and  cried  at  remembrance 
of  his  kindness. 

That  night  we  went  to  Wallack’s  Theatre.  It  was  the  first  and 
last  time  in  all  my  life  that  I  ever  attended  the  theatre  in  my  own 
land.  I  said  to  myself :  “  This  is  the  most  respectable  one  there 

is ;  ‘  Rosedale,  or  the  Rifle  Ball  ’  is  a  reputable  play  and  Fester 
Wallack  is  at  his  best  in  it ;  no  one  knows  me  and  no  harm  will 
be  done.  ’  ’  This  I  then  stated  to  my  father’s  friend,  and  he  agreed, 
both  of  us  being  good  Christians  and  church-members.  We 
went — it  was  an  evening  of  wonder  and  delight,  but  I  forbear  to 
state  who  of  our  Western  friends  and  fellow  church-members  we 
then  and  there  beheld,  who  had  gone  from  the  same  motives  that 
actuated  me  ! 

All  my  life  I  have  read  the  “  Amusement  column  ”  of  the 
daily  paper  and  often  greatly  enjoyed  it.  For  the  stage  I  have 
strong  natural  liking.  In  England  I  saw  Sothem  as  David  Gar¬ 
rick,  and  it  lifted  up  my  spirit  as  a  sermon  might.  But  in  this 
age,  with  my  purposes  and  its  demoralization,  the  stage  is  not  for 
me.  Sometime,  somewhere,  it  may  have  the  harm  taken  out  of  it, 
but  where  or  when,  this  generation,  and  many  more  to  follow  this, 
will  ask,  I  fear,  in  vain. 

A  week  or  so  later,  my  good  father  came  on  to  take  me  to 
New  England,  having  decided,  perhaps,  that  my  embassy  was 
not  so  foolish  as  he  had  thought  at  first.  Together  wTe  went  up 
the  Hudson  to  Sing-Sing,  where  Rev.  Dr.  Randolph  S.  Foster 


First  Proof  Sheets  a7id  First  Critic  !  5 1 1 

(now  Bishop)  was  pastor  of  the  M.  E.  Church.  This  noble  man 
had  been  President  of  the  University  at  Evanston,  and  I  wanted 
his  opinion  and  influence  in  my  new  enterprise.  Cornelius  J. 
Walsh’s  family  had  driven  in  their  elegant  carriage  from  Newark 
to  visit  Dr.  Foster.  I  remember  my  palpitations  of  heart  as  they 
all  assembled  to  hear  me  read  my  manuscript.  Annie,  the 
Doctor’s  gifted  daughter,  was  the  one  I  feared  and  loved  the  most  ; 
upon  her  verdict  hung  my  hopes.  I  read  the  whole  little  book  at 
one  sitting,  and  when  I  finished  they  all  sat  crying — it  was  a  cir¬ 
cle  of  white  handkerchiefs,  and  nobody  said  a  word. 

How  I  loved  them  for  their  sympathy  and  thanked  God  for 
raising  up  such  friends  for  Mary  and  for  me  ! 

Dr.  Foster  took  the  manuscript  to  the  city  next  day.  Har¬ 
per  &  Brothers  were  his  friends  ;  most  of  them  had  been  his 
parishioners.  They  accepted  it  at  once,  asked  the  Doctor  to 
write  an  Introduction,  which  he  did,  and  so  the  life  of  my  sister, 
playmate,  and  comrade  came  to  the  world. 

What  a  delight  were  my  beautiful  proof-sheets,  the  first  I 

ever  saw  ;  what  a  marvel  the  letters  that  accompanied  them  from 

♦  - 

Thomas  Glenn,  the  long-time  proof-reader  of  Harpers,  whose 
penmanship  seemed  to  me  vastly  plainer  than  print !  What  a 
comfort  to  dedicate  the  little  book  to  my  beloved  parents  !  Dear 
father  said  very  little  about  it,  but  five  years  after,  when  he  had 
passed  away,  we  found  a  copy  locked  up  with  Mary’s  photograph 
in  a  secret  drawer  of  his  desk.  And  what  a  rude  assault  was  the 
Round  Table  criticism  !  Up  to  that  time  all  had  been  plain  sail¬ 
ing  ;  the  press,  so  far  as  I  could  learn,  had  dealt  gently  with  the 
record  that  was  so  sacred  in  my  eyes.  But  one  day  a  friend  drew 
from  his  pocket  a  copy  of  the  New  York  Roiind  Table ,  and  pro¬ 
ceeded  to  read  what  Gail  Hamilton  afterward  called  “  A  bludgeon 
criticism.” 

It  was  my  first  heavy  blow  from  a  ‘  ‘  reviewer,  ’  ’  and  it  struck 
so  deeply  home  that  I  can  not  forget  it  in  any  world.  In  these 
years,  when  to  be  “  taken  to  task  ”  is  a  matter  of  course,  and  to 
be  bitterly  blamed,  or  even  cruelly  maligned,  is  not  uncommon,  I 
have  learned  a  calm  philosophy  that  neutralizes  the  virus  and 
takes  the  harm  out  of  the  wound.  But  in  those  days  such  blows 
bewildered  me,  more  from  their  manner  than  their  matter,  for 
criticism  I  expected,  and  had  been  bred  to  believe  that  it  was 


512 


What  to  Do 


wholesome,  which  I  do  now  believe  with  more  intelligence  than 
I  could  bring  to  bear  upon  the  subject  then. 

Being  in  need  of  money  at  one  time,  I  wrote  my  publishers 
that  if  they  would  give  me  a  hundred  copies  I  would  forego  the 
ten  per  cent  royalty  on  which  we  had  agreed.  This  they  did, 
and  that  is  all  that  ever  came  to  me,  except  that  in  later  years  I 
gave  away  a  hundred  or  more  copies  furnished  without  charge  by 
them.  In  1885  I  bought  the  plates  and  presented  them  to  out 
own  temperance  publishing  house  in  Chicago.  This  is  a  fair 
sample  of  the  financial  side  of  my  pen-holder  work. 

Each  new  book  is  to  me  a  new  impoverishment ;  I  give  them 
away  freely,  never  having  been  able  to  keep  a  book  of  any  sort, 
least  of  all,  my  own,  any  more  than  I  can  an  umbrella  or  a  section 
of  the  atmosphere.  All  of  my  ventures  combined  have  not  netted 
me  one  thousand  dollars. 

From  England  I  have  encouraging  accounts  of  the  little 
book’s  success,  and  I  have  had  no  more  welcome  greeting  than 
from  those  who,  wherever  I  go,  speak  gently  to  me  of  the  good 
that  Mary’s 'life  has  done  them.  So  the  sweet  young  soul  lives 
on  in  minds  made  better  by  her  presence,  and  still  in  artless 
language  tries  to  “  tell  everybody  to  be  good.” 

Messrs.  Morgan  &  Scott,  publishers  of  the  English  edition, 
courteously  allowed  me  a  royalty  amounting  now  to  about  two 
hundred  dollars. 

As  years  go  by  I  find  that  my  jottings  gain  wider  hospital¬ 
ity,  my  last  two  magazine  articles  having  been  for  two  monthlies 
most  unlike —  The  Homiletic  and  The  Forum.  My  article  for  the 
first  has  been  printed  in  full  as  a  book  entitled,  “Woman  in 
the  Pulpit,”  by  D.  Eothrop  &  Co.,  Boston. 

And  now,  to  sum  up  what  I  have  learned  by  the  things 
sought,  suffered  and  succeeded  in,  along  my  pathway,  pen  in 
hand,  let  me  urge  every  young  woman  whose  best  vehicle  of 
expression  is  the  written  word,  not  to  be  driven  from  her  king¬ 
dom  by  impatience  as  was  I. 

1.  If  you  can  have  a  roof  over  your  head,  a  table  prepared 
before  you  and  clothes  to  wear,  let  them  be  furnished  by  your 
“  natural  protectors,”  and  do  you  study  and  practice  with  your 
pen.  Read  Robert  Louis  Stevenson’s  revelations  of  how  he 
came  to  be  a  master  of  style  ;  he  worked  and  waited  for  it, 
that  is  all. 


CRAFTS.  ANTHONY  COMSTOCK,  EDMUND  JAMES,  L.  T.  TOWNSEND 


■ 


- 


The  Journalism  of  the  Future. 


513 


2.  If  you  must  be  self-supporting,  learn  the  printer’s  trade 
in  a  newspaper  office.  The  atmosphere  will  be  congenial ;  you 
will  find  yourself  next  door  to  the  great  world  ;  if  you  have 
“faculty,”  the  inky  powers  will  find  it  out  and  your  vocation 
will  take  you  into  fellowship. 

‘  3.  The  next  best  outlook  is  the  teacher’s  desk.  A  majority 
of  our  most  celebrated  women  writers  were  teachers  once.  The 
life  is  Intellectual  and,  though  one  of  routine  is  not  most  favor¬ 
able  to  the  freedom  that  a  writer  should  enjoy,  it  conduces  to 
surroundings  that  enhance,  rather  than  deteriorate,  the  mental 
powers.  But  imagination,  that  angel  of  mind,  is  a  shy  spirit  and 
breaks  not  readily  to  harness  ;  while  Pegasus  in  the  tread-mill 
sawing  up  the  fire-wood  of  necessity  is  the  sorriest  spectacle  alive. 

But  journalism  will  be  a  larger  field  to-morrow  than  it  is 
to-day,  and  nine  tenths  of  our  literary  aspirants,  if  they  have  the 
divine  call  of  adaptation  and  enthusiasm,  will  enter  there. 

Newspapers  need  women  more  than  women  need  newspapers. 
Fewer  tobacco  cobwebs  in  air  and  brain  and  a  less  alcoholic  ink 
are  the  prime  necessities  of  the  current  newspaper.  Mixed  with 
the  miraculous  good  of  journalism  note  the  random  statements 
given  to-day  only  that  they  may  be  taken  back  to-morrow.  Note 
the  hyperbolism  of  heads  not  level,  the  sensationalism,  the  low 
details  not  lawful  to  be  uttered,  the  savagery  of  the  pugilist  and 
baseball  columns,  the  beery  mental  flavor,  the  bitter  gall  dipped 
from  the  editorial  inkstand  and  spattered  on  political  opponents. 
In  brief,  note  that  newspaperdom  is  a  camp  and  not  a  family 
circle  —  a  half  sphere  not  a  whole  one. 

But  the  journalistic  temperament  is  almost  the  finest  in  the 
world — keen,  kind,  progressive,  and  humanitarian.  Take  away 
the  hallucination  of  nicotine  and  the  craze  of  alcoholic  dreams, 
and  you  would  have  remaining  an  incomparable  set  of  brother- 
hearted  men,  whose  glimpses  of  God  would  be  not  at  all  infre¬ 
quent.  Anchor  alongside  these  chivalric-natured  experts,  women 
as  gifted  as  themselves,  and  free  from  drug  delusions  ;  then,  in 
one  quarter  century,  you  will  have  driven  pugilists  and  saloon¬ 
keepers,  ward  politicians  and  Jezebels  from  the  sacred  temple  of 
journalism,  and  the  people’s  daily  open  letter  from  the  great 
world  shall  be  pure  as  a  letter  from  home. 

Until  the  bitter  controversy  about  the  Prohibition  party’s 
33 


I 


514  The  Politics  of  the  Future. 

relation  to  politics,  I  have  been  treated  almost  universally  with 
kind  consideration  by  the  editorial  fraternity.  I  attribute  this 
to  my  brother’s  membership  therein  and  to  my  own  participation 
in  journalism,  also  to  a  certain  kindliness  that  I  believe  belongs 
to  the  journalistic  temperament.  There  is  much  of  the  dramatic 
in  these  editorial  brethren  and  the  theory  on  which  I  account 
for  the  oceans  of  abuse  that  they  seem  to  dip  up  out  of  their 
inkstands,  is  that  each  in  thought  separates  his  own  genidl  per¬ 
sonality  from  the  dreadful  pen-and-ink  dragon  who  writes  the 
perfunctory  editorials  and  paragraphs. 

It  seems  to  me  this  is  a  great  evil,  doing  incalculable  harm  to 
their  own  nature  and  character,  and  greatly  diminishing  the  sum 
total  of  the  world’s  good  will.  If  the  politics  of  the  future  can  not 
be  more  reasonable,  if  men  and  women  can  not  discuss  great  ques¬ 
tions  without  using  abusive  epithets,  then  the  true  civilization 
is  a  long  way  off.  I  confidently  believe  that  all  of  this  sanguin¬ 
ary  style  of  writing  is  but  an  unconscious  reminiscence  in  the 
editorial  brain  of  the  cruel  bloodshed  of  his  ancestors  when  they 
matched  spear  with  spear  instead  of  fighting  at  the  pen’s  point 
alone.  Surely  this  will  wear  away  and  we  shall  learn  to  think 
and  speak  with  the  utmost  personal  kindliness  concerning  our 
opponents  in  the  field  of  politics. 


The  World's  True  Aristocracy . 


5i5 


PEOPLE  I  HAVE  MET. 

I  console  myself  as  regards  many  famous  personages  that  I 
have  tried  to  give  them  a  little  peace  of  their  lives.  Attracted  by 
great  characters  far  more  than  by  any  other  magnet  in  this  world, 
I  have  visited  their  haunts  on  both  sides  of  the  sea  at  every  oppor¬ 
tunity  ;  have  *gone  scores  of  miles  out  of  my  way  to  stand  beside 
De  Quincey’s  grave,  and  Coleridge’s  and  Wordsworth’s,  but  have 
not  intruded  upon  the  living  objects  of  my  admiration,  for  the 
mere  purpose  of  the  sight,  save  in  a  single  instance,  which  I  have 
felt  guilty  over  ever  since  ;  to  Eongfellow,  at  my  request,  my  friend 
Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps  gave  me  a  note  of  introduction,  saying  to 
him  and  me,  ‘  ‘  I  think  she  has  earned  it  by  her  honest,  hard  wo^k 
for  temperance.” 

It  has  been  my  good  fortune,  however,  to  have  had  many  a 
glimpse  of  those  the  world  calls  great.  I  have  seen  the  motherly 
Queen  of  England  graciously  distributing  prizes  to  the  peasantry 
at  Windsor  Castle ;  the  dignified  Emperor  Napoleon  III.  driving 
in  state  along  the  Champs  Ely  sees  ;  the  martial  Emperor  Will¬ 
iam  saluting  the  enthusiastic  crowd  from  his  box  at  the  Imperial 
Opera  House  in  Berlin  ;  the  handsome  Pope  of  Rome  pronouncing 
benedictions  at  St.  Peter’s  ;  the  ponderous  Sultan  of  Turkey  rid¬ 
ing  to  the  Mosque  of  Santa  Sophia,  and  several  Presidents  of  the 
United  States  in  the  parlors  of  the  White  House. 

But  my  most  cherished  memories  are  not  of  those  whose 
heads  were  crowned  by  virtue  of  rights  not  in  the  least  divine. 
Only  the  world’s  true  aristocracy,  its  kings  and  queens  in  the 
better  realms  of  literature,  art,  science  and  humanity,  have  held 
sway  over  my  loyal  heart.  In  seeking  to  pay  them  worthy 
tribute,  I  have  found  that  such  reminiscences  alone  would  fill  a 
volume.  Within  the  limits  allotted  here,  I  can  sketch  but  a  few 
out  of  the  scores  by  whose  presence,  as  well  as  by  their  grand 
words  and  lives,  my  life  and  character  have  been  enriched. 


516  A  Thorough  American  Type. 

HANNAH  WHlTAIyly  SMITH. 

Among  the  friends  who  have  been  most  helpful  to  me  is  Mrs. 
Hannah  Whitall  Smith,  wife  of  Robert  Pearsall  Smith,  of  Phila¬ 
delphia.  Mrs.  Smith  is  the  author  of  “  The  Christian’s  Secret  of 
a  Happy  Life,  ’  ’  a  book  that  has  reached  numerous  editions  and 
been  translated  into  eight  languages  ;  a  book  from  which  I  had 
already  derived  great  advantage  in  my  spiritual  life  before  ever 
meeting  her  who  has  long  been  to  me  like  “  the  shadow  of  a 
great  rock  in  a  weary  land.” 

The  first  time  I  ever  saw  this  noble  woman  was  when  I  spoke 
for  the  first  time  in  the  city  of  Philadelphia,  and  was  informed  by 
those  having  the  meeting  in  charge  that  she  was  to  conduct  the 
devotional  exercises.  I  was  not  a  little  impressed  by  the  honor 
and  pleasure  of  having  her  associated  with  me,  and  when  a  tall 
woman  of  strong  physique,  not  stout,  but  far  from  thin,  wralked  up 
the  steps  into  the  pulpit  with  a  business-like  air,  her  fine,  beaming 
countenance,  motherly  tones,  and  warm  grasp  of  the  hand  made 
me  at  ease  with  her  at  once.  From  that  hour  we  have  been  warm 
friends,  and  her  home  seems  like  my  own,  so  often  has  she  said 
to  me,  “  When  thee  comes  to  my  house  thee  is  to  do  just  exactly 
as  thee  likes,  and  while  thee  is  here  the  house  and  all  we  have  is 
thine.”  This  most  hospitable  mansion  at  Germantown,  in  the 
suburbs  of  Philadelphia,  has  been  a  refuge  to  me  many  a  time, 
more  so  than  any  other  of  the  thousand  homes  that  have  so 
kindly  opened  their  doors  to  me,  except  “Rest  Cottage,”  and 
“Weary  Woman’s  Rest,”  as  I  call  the  beloved  Auburndale 
home  of  Anna  Gordon. 

I  did  myself  the  pleasure  to  sketch  “  H.  W.  S.  ”  at  length  in 
“Woman  and  Temperance,”  but  a  large  volume  would  hardly 
suffice  to  show  the  many-sided  amplitude  of  character  with  which 
this  woman,  a  thorough  American  type  and  one  of  our  choicest,  is 
endowed.  Her  sunny  spirit  has  hardly  its  peer  for  sustained 
cheerfulness  in  all  the  shining  ranks  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.,  with 
which  she  has  been  associated  almost  from  the  beginning.  The 
Bible  readings  given  by  her  at  our  National  Conventions  are  the 
most  unique  religious  meetings  I  have  ever  attended.  Her  Ex¬ 
pository  Leaflets  on  “Chariots,”  the  “Crusade  Psalm,”  and 
other  subjects,  have  had  an  immense  sale  among  our  local  unions 
ivhere  they  are  reproduced  to  the  great  advantage  of  all  who 


A  Crocus-natured  Woman. 


5J7 


hear  them.  Once  a  month,  for  many  years,  Mrs.  Smith  has 
furnished  us  one  of  these  inimitable  readings. 

Their  eldest  daughter,  Mary  Whitall  Costelloe,  having  mar¬ 
ried  an  English  barrister,  the  family  now  reside  in  London,  but 
wherever  they  are,  their  noble  character,  varied  accomplish¬ 
ments,  and  great  wealth  are  consecrated  to  the  cause  of  “  God 
and  home  and  every  land.” 

MARY  A.  LATHBTJRY. 

Some  twelve  summers  ago  I  was  in  that  great  literary  cara¬ 
vansary  called  the  Methodist  Book  Rooms,  Broadway,  New  York. 
Passing  the  editorial  doors,  a  soft  voice  called  me  from  within, 
and  a  timid  hand  touched  my  arm,  as  Mary  A.  La  tilbury,  whom 
I  then  saw  for  the  first  time,  said  to  me,  “  Won’t  you  come  in 
and  let  me  talk  to  you  a  little  ?  ’  ’  She  had  j  ust  been  chosen 
assistant  editor  of  the  Sunday-School  Advocate ;  a  position  of  an 
unrecognized  sort,  in  which  a  woman  has  an  opportunity  to  do  a 
vast  deal  of  hard  work  without  anybody  being  any  the  wiser  as  to 
her  individuality.  This  will  be  considered  a  crabbed  remark, 
but  it  always  seemed  to  me  that  a  woman,  as  well  as  a  man, 
should  have  the  happiness  of  an  honest  recognition  for  the  good 
she  does  and  the  help  she  brings  to  any  enterprise.  My  own  im¬ 
mediate  corps  of  lieutenants  in  the  office  amuse  themselves  at  my 
expense  because  I  insist  on  devising  some  responsible  name  that 
shall  belong  to  each  of  them,  preferring  not  to  bunch  them  all 
under  the  general  name  of  clerks,  but  naming  one,  office  secre¬ 
tary,  another,  department  secretary,  etc.,  and  }^et  \  believe  they 
like  it,  all  the  same,  and  recognize,  as  I  do,  that  it  is  simply  just 
that  those  who  do  the  work  should  have  the  pleasure  of  forming 
the  wider  circle  of  friends  naturally  belonging  to  those  who  work 
in  a  wide  field.  I  also  think  it  an  advantage  to  the  work  itself, 
from  the  added  individuality  and  enthusiasm  of  those  who  give 
themselves,  body,  soul,  and  spirit,  to  the  enterprise,  whatever  it 
may  be. 

Mary  A.  Eathbury  is  one  oi  the  most  delicate,  crocus-natured 
women  that  I  know.  She  takes  strong  hold  of  the  nutritive 
powers  of  the  universe,  so  that  no  amount  of  cold  above  the 
ground  can  make  her  less  hardy,  and  yet  she  is  as  fragile  as  a 
harebell  to  look  upon,  and  as  shrinking  as  a  mimosa.  We  were 
at  once  acquainted  and  our  rapport  has  been  well-nigh  perfect 


5  t <S  Our  Special  Artist  and  Poets  Laureate. 

ever  since.  She  had  planned  her  pretty  Bay-Window  Department 
and  asked  me  many  questions  that  I  could  not  answer,  about  in¬ 
genious  ways  of  interesting  children  and  young  people.  I  told 
her  all  I  knew  and  more  besides,  which  did  not  take  long,  and 
went  my  way,  enriched  by  the  knowledge  of  one  more  beautiful 
soul.  As  I  am  somewhat  of  a  questioner,  I  then  and  there  learned 
from  her  much  of  her  history  and  aspirations.  She  came  from  a 
quiet  New  York  village  ;  was  converted  early,  and  as  she  knelt  in 
consecration,  knowing  that  she  had  some  special  gifts  of  brain 
and  hand,  she  there  specifically  dedicated  them  to  the  worship  of 
the  Master  whom  she  loved  and  the  humanity  for  whose  sweet 
sake  He  gave  Himself  to  sorrow  and  to  death.  I  think  she  told 
me  that  just  then  flashed  on  her  fancy  a  series  of  pictures,  since 
embodied  in  a  beautiful  book  entitled  “  Out  of  Darkness  Into 
Light,”  where  the  progress  of  a  human  spirit  is  typified  in  the  life 
of  a  young  man.  She  has  gone  on  her  shining  way,  with  light 
always  falling  on  her  pencil  from  the  celestial  country  toward 
which  her  course  is  steadfast.  As  we  had  no  money,  I  early 
asked  her  to  design  for  us  a  picture  for  our  children’s  pledge  card, 
and  a  seal  for  our  National  Society,  so  we  call  sweet  Mar}'  Lath- 
bury  our  “  special  artist.”  She  has  also  wrritten  for  us  beautiful 
hymns,  and  shares  with  Rev.  Dr.  Rankin,  the  celebrated  author 
of  some  of  the  choicest  contributions  to  our  modern  hymnals,  the 
title  of  our  poet  laureate.  In  the  Centennial  year  Miss  Latlibury 
wrote  what  seems  to  me  the  finest  hymn  of  that  epoch,  beginning, 

“  Lift  up,  lift  up  thy  voice  with  singing, 

Dear  land,  with  strength,  lift  up  thy  voice  ! 

The  kingdoms  of  the  earth  are  bringing 
Their  treasures  to  thy  gates,  rejoice  !  ” 

Music  and  words  were  never  more  rarely  suited  to  each  other 
than  the  lamented  Philip  P.  Bliss’s  and  Miss  Lathbury’s  in  that 
celestial  song.  Another  of  her  hymns  written  for  white  ribboners 
begins  thus  : 

“  Room  for  the  truth,  make  room  before  us, 

For  truth  and  righteousness  to  stand  ! 

And  plant  the  blessed  banner  o’er  us, 

For  God  and  Home  and  Native  Land!” 

Miss  Martha  Van  Marter  succeeded  to  Miss  Lathbury’s  place 
when  the  latter’s  gracious  and  growing  fame  led  her  into  the  path¬ 
ways  of  artistic  book-making,  and  the  two  women  have  set  up 


A  Great  Religious  Sect. 


5i9 


their  rest  together  in  New  York  where  a  handsome  little  nephew 
of  Miss  L.  furnishes  a  model  for  many  of  her  fairy  faces,  and  is 
bound  to  grow  up,  under  the  hallowed  influences  of  this  pure 
home,  to  be  one  of  the  new-fashioned  men  that  shall  help  bring 
about  the  new-fashioned  world  of  men  and  women. 

REV.  DR.  JOHN  HARE. 

Some  years  ago,  when  the  Presbyterian  General  Assembly 
was  held  in  Madison,  Wis.,  I  attended  with  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Hib- 
ben  and  Mrs.  Hinckley,  who  were  at  that  time  respectively  pres¬ 
idents  *)f  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  of  Illinois  and  of  Wisconsin.  We 
wished  to  bring  a  knowledge  of  our  methods  to  these  good,  con¬ 
servative  men,  leaders  of  a  great  religious  sect.  But  as  we  knew 
we  should  not  be  admitted  to  their  sanhedrim,  we  arranged  for  a 
meeting  in  a  church  near  by  at  an  hour  when  they  were  not  in 
session  and  the  local  union  of  Madison  sent  a  tasteful  ticket  of 
invitation  to  each  member.  There  was  a  good  attendance,  and 
among  others  the  massive  form  and  kindly  face  of  Rev.  Dr. 
John  Hall,  of  New  York  City,  dignified  the  audience.  He  was 
courteously  invited  to  open  the  meeting  with  prayer,  but  said  he 
would  prefer  to  witness  the  proceedings  first,  so  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Stryker,  who  is  not  afraid  of  the  white  ribboners,  prayed  for  us, 
and  then  we  three  women  spoke  as  we  were  moved.  Coming 
down  from  the  pulpit  I  met  Dr.  Hall  for  the  first  time,  who  spoke 
to  me  most  gently  from  his  tall  height,  and  asked  if  he  could 
have  an  interview  with  me  next  day.  We  arranged  one  in  the 
Capitol  building,  where  the  Presbyterian  Assembly  held  its  ses¬ 
sions.  I  invited  my  two  partners  in  distress  to  accompany  me, 
and  for  an  hour  or  more  we  had  a  talk  that  was  to  me  sur¬ 
prising.  In  substance  Dr.  Hall  said  that  he  had  been  convinced 
I  had  a  mission  as  a  public  speaker ;  he  wished  to  tell  me  this 
and  to  beg  me  to  confine  my  speeches  wholly  to  the  members  of 
my  own  sex.  He  said  the  Bible  clearly  taught  this,  and  he 
believed  it  to  be  his  duty  kindly  to  urge  this  truth  upon  my 
attention.  He  also  spoke  about  the  sacerdotal  line,  and  that  while 
we  might  accomplish  good,  he  very  much  questioned  if,  on  the 
whole,  we  had  not  already  done  still  more  harm  ;  preaching  was 
the  work  of  men  set  apart  to  do  it,  and  there  were  now  so  many 
going  about  with  Bagster  Bibles  under  their  arms  who  could 


520 


‘ '  Sew  on  Buttons  and  Make  the  Kettle  Boil.  ’ * 


imitate  Mr.  Moody  in  nothing  save  that  action,  that  he  feared  the 
sanctity  of  the  clerical  office  and  its  high  prerogatives  were  not 
so  clearly  defined  in  the  popular  mind  as  they  would  otherwise 
be.  Mrs.  Hinckley  was  visibly  hurt  by  his  words  and  rose  to 
leave,  saying,  “  With  such  a  curse  on  hand  in  this  country  as  the 
drink  habit  and  the  liquor  traffic,  I  wonder  that  any  man  dares 
to  speak  as  you  have  done  to  a  woman  like  our  president.  To 
me  it  seems  that  you  would  frustrate  the  grace  of  God.  You  say 
that  woman’s  place  is  in  the  home.  I  grant  it,  and  if  you  will 
discover  a  way  by  which  }^ou  can  protect  our  homes  and  our 
boys  from  the  wolves  that  howl  upon .  their  track,  I  will  gladly 
stay  at  home  with  my  four  little  boys  for  the  remainder  of  my 
days  to  sew  on  buttons  and  make  the  kettle  boil.”  The  great 
man  inclined  his  head  slightly,  saying,  “  Indeed,  madam,  I  hope 
your  boys  may  grow  up  good  and  happy.”  His  entire  stress 
was  laid  upon  the  personal  conversion  of  drinking  men,  and  so 
far  as  he  could  seem  to  see  there  was  nothing  beyond  this  in  the 
temperance  reform.  I  told  him  of  our  work  among  the  children  : 
that  the  mother-hearts  of  the  land  were  working  along  the  line 
of  prevention,  rather  than  spending  all  their  time  on  reformation. 
We  talked  to  him  of  prohibition,  but  met  with  small  response. 
He  was  very  kind  and  thoughtful,  but  spoke  to  us  out  of  one 
world  and  we  answered  him  out  of  another.  One  of  us  said  to 
him,  “  Is  it  not  possible,  Doctor,  that  in  your  church,  the  most 
costly  in  the  United  States,  surrounded  by  millionaires  as  you  are, 
you  may  not  have  as  broad  a  view  of  this  great  question  as  we 
whose  lives  are  spent  among  the  people  ?  ’  ’  “  Indeed,  ’  ’  he  an¬ 
swered,  “the  best  members  of  my  church  are  servant-girls. ” 
“  But  servant-girls  do  not  set  the  key-note  of  public  opinion  in 
your  church,”  was  the  response.  He  assured  us  that  he  never 
tasted  wine,  no  matter  at  whose  table  he  might  be,  which  we 
were  very  glad  and  grateful  to  find  out.  On  the  whole,  the  inter¬ 
view  was  rather  unsatisfactory  to  all  concerned,  and  as  we  left 
him  I  remember  saying,  “  It  is  impossible  for  you,  Dr.  Hall,  born 
and  reared  in  Ireland  and  in  the  Presbyterian  fold,  to  have  any 
conception  of  the  outlook  of  an  American  woman,  of  all  that 
stirs  in  her  brain  and  heart.  Some  day  when  we  get  home  to 
heaven,  I  expect  to  see  you  high  up  among  the  shining  ones  and 
from  a  very  low  place  close  by  the  door,  if  I  am  so  happy  as  to 


Murphy  Meetings. 


521 


attain  so  much,  I  expect  to  look  up  at  you  with  an  inquiring 
glance,  recalling  to  you  this  interview,  and  that  you  will  then 
glance  down  toward  me  and  the  look  will  mean,  ‘  Sister,  away 
yonder  in  the  little  planet  Earth,  when  I  reproved  you  for  speaking 
of  a  pure  life  to  my  brother-men,  I  was  egregiously  mistaken.’  ” 

FRANCIS  MURPHY. 

I  first  met  Francis  Murphy  at  Old  Orchard  Beach,  finding  him 
a  whole-hearted,  genial  man.  I  invited  him  to  come  to  Chicago  ; 
he  did  so,  and  held  meetings  for  several  nights.  I  engaged  Bruns¬ 
wick  Billiard  Hall  for  him,  and  my  brother,  through  his  paper, 
did  all  he  could  to  help  the  movement  on,  but  for  some  reason  his 
first  visit  was  not  successful,  though  subsequently  he  has  had 
great  audiences  and  good  results.  I  was  in  Pittsburgh  when 
thirty  different  churches  in  the  city  and  suburbs  were  packed  each 
night  with  Murphy  meetings  and  he  was  conveyed  in  a  carriage 
from  one  to  another  of  the  principal  audiences,  sometimes  being 
admitted  through  a  window  because  the  aisles  were  as  thorough¬ 
ly  packed  as  the  pews.  I  was  myself  at  a  meeting  where  this 
occurred,  in  the  United  Presbyterian  Church,  where  they  sang 
psalms,  and  such  a  breaking  up  of  formality  as  this  was  for  staid 
old  Pittsburgh  can  not  be  described.  I  also  spoke  on  that  occa¬ 
sion,  in  the  Episcopal  Church,  packed  after  the  same  manner,  and 
as  I  stood  inside  the  chancel  rail,  I  could  hardly  believe  my  eyes 
as  the  motley  throng  rolled  in  out  of  the  human  tides  along  the 
street.  Had  Brother  Murphy’s  constructive  plans  been  equal  to 
his  magnetism,  he  would  have  excelled  any  reformer  of  our  time, 
and  I  am  constrained  to  say  that  if  he  had  adhered  to  prohibition 
and  kept  along  side  by  side  with  the  W.  C.  T.  U.,  his  influence 
would  have  been  incomparably  greater,  but  a  higli-license  advo¬ 
cate  can  not  under  any  circumstances  be  acceptable  to  the  white 
ribboners.  Prohibition  is  our  watch-word  and  our  guiding  star. 
We  shall  follow  where  it  leads,  though  it  be  to  prisons  and  to 
death. 

DR.  WM.  H.  HOLCOMBE. 

Mrs.  Judge  Merrick,  of  New  Orleans,  introduced  me  in  that 
city  to  Mrs.  Anna  Y.  Waugh,  a  Boston  woman  of  great  accom¬ 
plishments,  who  had  lived  in  many  foreign  countries  ;  known 
more  remarkable  people  than  almost  any  one  I  ever  met  and  was 
a  seer  in  her  own  right.  This  lady  took  me  to  see  Dr.  William 


522 


A  Woman  ‘  ‘  Knight  of  Labor.  *  ’ 


H.  Holcombe,  a  Northern  gentleman  for  many  years  resident  in 
the  Crescent  City,  and  its  leading  homeopathic  physician.  Many 
years  before  I  had  read  this  gentleman’s  curious  book,  “  In  Both 
Worlds,”  an  account  of  the  supposed  whereabouts  of  Lazarus 
during  his  absence  from  the  body,  as  determined  by  Swedenbor- 
gian  standards.  I  had  also  read  many  of  his  religious  articles 
aiid  his  ingenious  putting  of  the  Christian  Scientists’  philosophy. 
That  the  doctor  has  a  wide  and  lofty  soul,  and  one  totally  fear¬ 
less,  no  one  can  disbelieve  who  thinks  his  thoughts  after  him. 
What  was  my  surprise,  not  knowing  that  he  had  cognizance  of 
me,  to  hear  him  say  as  my  name  was  announced,  “  Oh,  I  know 
about  you,  and  I  regard  you  as  a  man-spirit  sent  into  this  sphere 
of  being  to  help  the  women  up — they  are  too  passive,  they’re  like 
sheep,  they’ve  been  dogged  so  long  that  they’ll  never  rally  without 
a  man-spirit  to  go. before  them,  shepherd-fashion.”  Not  a  little 
taken  aback  by  this  greeting,  I  said,  “  But,  Doctor,  I’m  a  woman, 
and  it  is  my  greatest  glory  to  be  one.” 

“O  yes,  I  know  you  are  ‘for  the  present  distress’  and  to 
fulfill  your  ambassadorship,  but  all  the  same,  what  I  tell  you  is  the 
truth,  and  you’ll  find  it  out  some  day,”  was  his  final  affirmation, 
for  I  speedily  dismissed  the  subject  and  talked  to  him  of  the 
psychical  themes  in  which  he  has  long  been  a  specialist. 

MRS.  ELIZABETH  RODGERS. 

When  the  Knights  of  Labor  held  their  great  convention  at 
Richmond,  Va.,  a  score  of  women  appeared  and  were  heartily 
received  as  delegates.  Chief  among  these  was  Mrs.  Elizabeth 
Rodgers,  Master  Workman  of  District  No.  24,  Chicago.  Always 
desirous  of  meeting  remarkable  women,  I  ascertained  her  address, 
asked  an  interview,  and  received  a  cordial  invitation. 

So  I  went ;  in  an  unfamiliar,  but  reputable  part  of  the  city, 
where  the  street-car  patrons  are  evidently  wage-workers,  I  was 
welcomed  to  a  small,  but  comfortable,  modern  house  by  a  woman 
who  came  to  the  door  with  sleeves  rolled  up  and  babe  in  arms. 
She  was  the  presiding  officer  over  all  the  Knights  of  Labor  in 
Chicago  and  the  suburbs,  except  the  Stock  Yards  division.  Her 
orders  came  directly  from  ‘  ‘  Brother  Powderly  ’  ’  (as  she  calls 
him),  and  were  by  her  promulgated  to  the  local  societies,  includ¬ 
ing  fifty  thousand  or  more  working  men  and  women.  She  pre- 


“ Delegate  No.  800,  Knights  of  Labor"  523 

sided  once  a  fortnight  over  a  meeting  of  three  hundred,  who 
represent  the  mass  ;  and  when  I  asked  her  “  if  she  studied  Cush¬ 
ing’s  Manual”  she  replied,  “Indeed,  I  do;  for  these  men  are 
very  wide-awake,  and  on  the  watch  to  see  if  I  make  mistakes.  ’  ’ 
Probably  no  parallel  instance  of  leadership  in  a  woman’s  hands, 
conferred  by  such  peers,  can  be  cited  in  this  country,  if  indeed  in 
any  other. 

Mrs.  Rodgers  is  about  forty  years  of  age  ;  height  medium  ; 
figure  neither  stout  nor  fragile  ;•  complexion  fair,  clear,  and 
healthful ;  eye  an  honest  gray  ;  mouth  sweet  and  smiling  ;  nose 
a  handsome,  masterful  Roman  ;  head  square  and  full ;  profile 
strong  and  benignant.  I  was  glad  to  note  her  fair,  unpunctured 
ear — a  proof  of  wholesome  instincts.  She  has  been  the  mother  of 
twelve  children,  ten  of  whom  are  now  living.  The  youngest  was 
but  twelve  days  old  when  her  mother  started  for  the  Richmond 
Convention,  where  the  baby  was  made  “Delegate  No.  800,”  and 
presented  by  the  Knights  with  a  silver  cup  and  spoon,  and  the 
mother  with  a  handsome  Knights  of  Tabor  gold  watch. 

‘  ‘  My  husband  always  believed  that  women  should  do  any¬ 
thing  they  liked  that  was  good  and  which  they  could  do  well,” 
said  Mrs.  Rodgers,  proudly;  “but  for  him,  I  never  could  have 
got  on  so  well  as  a  Master  Workman.  I  was  the  first  woman  in 
Chicago  to  join  the  Knights.  They  offered  us  the  chance,  and  I 
said  to  myself,  ‘  There  must  be  a  first  one,  and  so  I’ll  go  forward. ’  ” 

“  How  do  you  speak  to  them  ?  ”  I  asked. 

“Oh,  just  as  I  do  here  to  my  children  at  home,’’  she 
answered,  simply.  “I  have  no  time  to  get  anything  ready  to 
say,  for  I  do,  and  always  have  done,  all  my  own  work,  but  I  just 
talk  as  well  as  I  can  at  the  time.” 

And  that  is  well  enough,  for  Mrs.  Rodgers  is  ready  of  utter¬ 
ance,  with  a  round,  clear  voice,  gentle  and  womanly,  and  that 
concise  and  pointed  method  of  expression  which  shows-  her 
mental  faculties  to  be  thoroughly  well  in  hand. 

“  Our  leaders  are  all  in  favor  of  temperance  and  the  woman’s 
ballot,  and  every  other  thing  that’s  good,”  she  said,  “  and  will 
bring  the  rank  and  file  up  to  these  things  as  soon  as  they  can.” 

“  Some  people  object  to  you  because  of  your  secrets,”  I  said. 

“Oh,  we  are  not  a  regular  secret  society,”  she  answered, 
“  we  have  no  such  ways  as  the  Masons  ;  no  oath  in  such  a  sense 


524 


We  Take  No  Saloon-keepers .” 


<  < 


as  they  have.  We  are  like  the  Good  Templars,  with  a  ‘grip,’ 
that  we  may  know  each  other,  and  a  ‘password,’  that  strangers 
may  not  get  in,  and,  that’s  about  all.” 

‘‘Then  your  only  secret  is  that  you  have  n't  any?"  I  in¬ 
quired,  glad  to  learn  this  because  opposed,  by 'nature  and  by 
nurture,  to  close  corporations. 

‘‘That’s  about  it,”  .she  smilingly  returned. 

Mrs.  Rodgers  got  her  training  as  the  chief  officer  of  a  local 
board  of  the  Knights  of  Labor,  which  office  she  held  four  years, 
and  by  the  death  of  the  District  Master  Workman  became  the 
chief  for  our  great  city. 

“  We  take  no  saloon-keepers,”  she  said,  “  not  even  a  saloon¬ 
keeper’s  wife.  We  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  men  who  have 
capital  invested  in  a  business  which  is  the  greatest  curse  the  poor 
have  ever  known  ;  but  wage-workers  connected  with  the  liquor 
business  are  not  forbidden  to  join  us.”  I  told  her  I  hoped  the 
pledge  of  total  abstinence  might  be  made  a  test  of  membership, 
and  she  heartily  acquiesced  in  the  plan.  I  spoke  of  the  White 
Cross  movement,  and  my  desire  to  enlist  the  Knights  in  its  favor, 
leaving  with  her  some  of  the  literature  and  the  petitions  for  the 
protection  of  women  and  the  prohibition  of  the  liquor  traffic.  She 
seemed  to  me  a  sincere  Christian,  and  warmly  seconded  my  state¬ 
ment  that  “  Mr.  Powderly  must  have  the  help  of  God,  or  he  could 
not  speak  and  act  so  wisely.” 

“  The  Socialists  are  our  greatest  trouble,”  she  said.  ‘‘All 
they  are  good  for  is  to  agitate  mischief  and  misrepresent  us  to  the 
public.  I  do  wish  good  and  earnest  people  would  join  us,  and 
hold  the  balance  of  power  ;  then  we  could  be  a  great  blessing  to 
this  country.” 

Tli at  is  the  key  to  the  position.  Out  of  this  workingwoman’s 
pure  and  motherly  heart  comes  the  appeal  to  all  good  people,  and 
I  pass  it  along,  that  we  may,  instead  of  standing  off  to  find  fault, 
come  near  to  help  this  blind  Hercules  of  labor  in  its  mighty 
struggle  toward  a  better  day. 

I  told  her  of  my  warm  sympathy  with  the  labor  movement 
along  the  lines  of  cooperation, arbitration  and  the  ballot  box  ;  of 
my  advocacy  of  the  eight-hour  law,  the  prohibition  of  child 
labor,  and  the  ownership  by  Government  (that  is  by  the  people) 
of  all  railway  and  telegraph  lines  ;  of  my  belief  that  the  Sunday 


A  Prophecy  of  All  We  Prayed  for.  525 

« 

law  is  our  chief  bulwark  of  the  workingman’s  liberty  and  that 
the  New  Testament  is  our  best  treatise  on  political  economy  and 
Christ  the  only  being  whose  life,  law  and  love  can  bring  in  uni¬ 
versal  brotherhood  so  that  humanity  will  become  one  great 
Republic.  Her  fine  face  glowed  with  spiritual  beauty  while  we 
talked — ourselves  a  prophecy  of  all  we  prayed  for — the  Irish  and 
the  Yankee  woman,  the  Catholic  and  Methodist.  “  If  such  as 
you  would  only  come  and  help  us  !  ”  she  repeated  ;  “if  the  edu¬ 
cated  and  earnest  would  lend  a  hand,  instead  of  standing  off  to 
criticise  and  blame  us  !  We  do  the  best  we  can,  but  we’ve  not 
had  the  chance  to  learn,  and  you  folks  could  just  set  us  on  our 
feet  and  put  down  the  few  loud-mouthed  anarchists  if  you  would 
only  join  us.” 

I  told  her  I  would  like  to  do  so  and  to  get  all  our  temper¬ 
ance  leaders  to  make  common  cause  with  them,  but  when  I  tried 
this  afterward,  found  it  could  not  be  done.  Still  it  remains  true 
that  the  Local  Assembly  in  every  town  and  village  draws  young 
men  away  from  the  saloon,  its  debates  help  to  make  them  better 
citizens,  and  that  the  mighty  Labor  movement  has,  by  outlawing 
the  saloon  socially,  done  more  for  temperance  than  we  who 
devote  our  lives  to  its  propaganda  have  been  able  to  achieve  in 
the  same  period. 

GLADSTONE. 

Westminster  Palace  is  by  far  the  noblest  pile  of  governmental 
buildings  that  Europe  furnishes.  It  is  an  eye-filling  and  a  heart- 
satisfying  portion.  So  stately,  yet  so  sturdy,  so  solid,  yet  so 
gracious,  that  when  one  thinks  of  all  it  means  touching  the  royal 
English  race,  there  is  a  spell  on  every  thoughtful  traveler  who 
stands  before  the  Parliament  Buildings  at  Westminster. 

Once,  when  doing  this,  oblivious  of  all  around  me,  I  noticed 
the  gathering  crowd  at  last,  and  some  one  said,  “  There  is  Glad¬ 
stone  !  ”  He  was  not  in  1870  so  much  my  hero  as  he  is  now,  but 
as  I  looked  upon  that  tall  and  stalwart  form,  a  temple  in  itself, 
that  noble  head,  bright  countenance,  on  which  goodness  is 
stamped,  no  less  plainly  than  learning,  and  where  the  eyes  are 
indeed  the  windows  of  a  wonderful  soul,  I  could  but  feel  that  in 
this,  the  greatest  leader  of  the  century,  England  had  a  human 
offset  to  Westminster ;  for  what  one  is  among  buildings,  the 
other  is  among  men. 


524 


IVe  Take  No  Saloon-keepers .” 


<  c 


as  they  have.  We  are  like  the  Good  Templars,  with  a  ‘grip,’ 
that  we  may  know  each  other,  and  a  ‘  password,’  that  strangers 
may  not  get  in,  and,  that’s  about  all.” 

“Then  your  only  secret  is  that  you  have  n't  any?”  I  in¬ 
quired,  glad  to  learn  this  because  opposed,  by  nature  and  by 
nurture,  to  close  corporations. 

“That’s  about  it,”  .she  smilingly  returned. 

Mrs.  Rodgers  got  her  training  as  the  chief  officer  of  a  local 
board  of  the  Knights  of  Labor,  which  office  she  held  four  years, 
and  by  the  death  of  the  District  Master  Workman  became  the 
chief  for  our  great  city. 

“  We  take  no  saloon-keepers,”  she  said,  “  not  even  a  saloon¬ 
keeper’s  wife.  We  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  men  who  have 
capital  invested  in  a  business  which  is  the  greatest  curse  the  poor 
have  ever  known  ;  but  wage-workers  connected  with  the  liquor 
business  are  not  forbidden  to  join  us.”  I  told  her  I  hoped  the 
pledge  of  total  abstinence  might  be  made  a  test  of  membership, 
and  she  heartily  acquiesced  in  the  plan.  I  spoke  of  the  White 
Cross  movement,  and  my  desire  to  enlist  the  Knights  in  its  favor, 
leaving  with  her  some  of  the  literature  and  the  petitions  for  the 
protection  of  women  and  the  prohibition  of  the  liquor  traffic.  She 
seemed  to  me  a  sincere  Christian,  and  warmly  seconded  my  state¬ 
ment  that  “  Mr.  Powderly  must  have  the  help  of  God,  or  he  could 
not  speak  and  act  so  wisely.” 

“  The  Socialists  are  our  greatest  trouble,”  she  said.  “All 
they  are  good  for  is  to  agitate  mischief  and  misrepresent  us  to  the 
public.  I  do  wish  good  and  earnest  people  would  join  us,  and 
hold  the  balance  of  power ;  then  we  could  be  a  great  blessing  to 
this  country.” 

That  is  the  key  to  the  position.  Out  of  this  workingwoman’s 
pure  and  motherly  heart  comes  the  appeal  to  all  good  people,  and 
I  pass  it  along,  that  we  may,  instead  of  standing  off  to  find  fault, 
come  near  to  help  this  blind  Hercules  of  labor  in  its  mighty 
struggle  toward  a  better  day. 

I  told  her  of  my  warm  sympathy  with  the  labor  movement 
along  the  lines  of  cooperation, arbitration  and  the  ballot  box  ;  of 
my  advocacy  of  the  eight-hour  law,  the  prohibition  of  child 
labor,  and  the  ownership  by  Government  (that  is  by  the  people) 
of  all  railway  and  telegraph  lines  ;  of  my  belief  that  the  Sunday 


A  Prophecy  of  All  We  Prayed  for.  525 

law  is  our  chief  bulwark  of  the  workingman’s  liberty  and  that 
the  New  Testament  is  our  best  treatise  on  political  economy  and 
Christ  the  only  being  whose  life,  law  and  love  can  bring  in  uni¬ 
versal  brotherhood  so  that  humanity  will  become  one  great 
Republic.  Her  fine  face  glowed  with  spiritual  beauty  while  we 
talked — ourselves  a  prophecy  of  all  we  prayed  for — the  Irish  and 
the  Yankee  woman,  the  Catholic  and  Methodist.  “  If  such  as 
you  would  only  come  and  help  us  !  ”  she  repeated  ;  “if  the  edu¬ 
cated  and  earnest  would  lend  a  hand,  instead  of  standing  off  to 
criticise  and  blame  us  !  We  do  the  best  we  can,  but  we’ve  not 
had  the  chance  to  learn,  and  you  folks  could  just  set  us  on  our 
feet  and  put  down  the  few  loud-mouthed  anarchists  if  you  would 
only  join  us.” 

I  told  her  I  would  like  to  do  so  and  to  get  all  our  temper¬ 
ance  leaders  to  make  common  cause  with  them,  but  when  I  tried 
this  afterward,  found  it  could  not  be  done.  Still  it  remains  true 
that  the  Local  Assembly  in  every  town  and  village  draws  young 
men  away  from  the  saloon,  its  debates  help  to  make  them  better 
citizens,  and  that  the  mighty  Labor  movement  has,  by  outlawing 
the  saloon  socially,  done  more  for  temperance  than  we  who 
devote  our  lives  to  its  propaganda  have  been  able  to  achieve  in 
the  same  period. 

GLADSTONE. 

Westminster  Palace  is  by  far  the  noblest  pile  of  governmental 
buildings  that  Europe  furnishes.  It  is  an  eye-filling  and  a  heart- 
satisfying  portion.  So  stately,  yet  so  sturdy,  so  solid,  yet  so 
gracious,  that  when  one  thinks  of  all  it  means  touching  the  royal 
English  race,  there  is  a  spell  on  every  thoughtful  traveler  who 
stands  before  the  Parliament  Buildings  at  Westminster. 

Once,  when  doing  this,  oblivious  of  all  around  me,  I  noticed 
the  gathering  crowd  at  last,  and  some  one  said,  “  There  is  Glad¬ 
stone  !  ”  He  was  not  in  1870  so  much  my  hero  as  he  is  now,  but 
as  I  looked  upon  that  tall  and  stalwart  form,  a  temple  in  itself, 
that  noble  head,  bright  countenance,  on  which  goodness  is 
stamped,  no  less  plainly  than  learning,  and  where  the  eyes  are 
indeed  the  windows  of  a  wonderful  soul,  I  could  but  feel  that  in 
this,  the  greatest  leader  of  the  century,  England  had  a  human 
*  offset  to  Westminster  ;  for  what  one  is  among  buildings,  the 
other  is  among  men. 


528 


“  Carlyle  and  Mazzini  in  One.” 


site  answers  letters  and  works  at  the  subscription  list.  She  is 
constantly  with  him,  and  their  mutual  devotion  is  good  to  see. 
He  asked  us  of  our  work,  and  I  gave  him  a  brief  outline  as  did 
Mrs.  Barnes  of  her  own  beautiful  mission  for  boys  “up  towm.” 
Then  we  told  him  we  wanted  to  know  his  views — as  much  as 
could  be  told  in  a  few  minutes.  At  this  he  began,  and  such  a 
cylopean  talk  as  he  gave  us  I  never  heard.  It  was  Carlyle  and 
Mazzini  in  one.  Words  wrere  fairly  dynamited  from  his  lips. 
They  roared  and  rang,  they  scorched  and  hissed.  Something  of 
the  primal  energy  of  nature  was  in  the  man.  He  brushed  aside 
our  favorite  plans  as  if  they  had  been  butterfly  wings  in  the  lurid 
flame  of  Chicago’s  conflagration.  He  rolled  from  that  deep  bass 
chest  his  anathema  maranatha  against  our  trifling  expedients, 
our  straws  to  stay  Niagara  !  He  volleyed  statistics  of  the  in¬ 
crease  of  pauperism  and  crime  in  New  York,  “a  city  that  gives 
ten  millions  a  year  in  charity  ” ;  he  tore  down  our  scaffolds  for 
building  and  uprooted  our  levers  for  lifting,  until — as  a  face  may 
be  so  ugly  as  to  seem  positively  handsome  by  the  positiveness  of 
its  quality — his  pessimism  approached  the  sublime.  History  was 
ransacked  from  Constantine  onward  to  show  that  the  year  ’89  in 
an}^  century  is  the  year  of  fate. 

The  fifth  of  Nehemiah  was  quoted  as  appropriate  reading  for 
the  epoch.  It  had  been  lately  read  at  a  workingmen’s  union  and 
they  had  no  idea  what  book  it  came  out  of!  He  told  us  to  go,  as 
he  had  done  last  Sunday,  to  a  district  in  New  York,  which  he 
described,  where  seven  hundred  thousand  people  are  flung  into 
the  chaos  of  poverty  and  crime  ;  to  watch  the  women  and  little 
children  at  work  for  a  crust,  as  desperately  as  a  drowning  man 
works  for  a  breath,  and  he  said,  ‘  Anybody  who  can  look  at 
them,  knowing  the  horror  of  their  slime  and  sin,  and  not  cut  his 
own  throat,  is  a  scoundrel.”  I  forebore  to  remind  him  that  he 
had  thus  looked,  and  still  lived  on  !  He  summarized  the  horrors 
of  our  present  situation  thus :  Aggregation  of  the  masses  into 
great  cities  ;  aggregation  of  the  money  into  monopolies  ;  working 
of  women  and  children  like  beasts  of  burden  ;  “and  last  of  all, 
nearest  the  devil  of  all,  is  this  danger  (his  voice  was  full  of 
sulphurous  portent  here),  this  workingman,  this  Titan,  this 
monster  of  the  mud-sills,  who  in  other  crises  has  been  but  the 
bond-slave  of  wealth  and  power,  this  giant  with  the  basal  brain 


Nelson  Sizer  the  Phrenologist. 


529 


and  hairy  hands,  this  Caliban  has  found  his  Cadmus  ;  he  begins 
to  think  ;  he  has  learned  how  to  read — and  he  is  reading  the 
Police  Gazette  !  ’  ’ 

When  he  was  a  New  York  boy,  he  said,  but  fifteen  thousand 
papers  were  issued  daily  to  one  million  five  hundred  thousand 
now.  Then,  the  shipping  news  was  the  staple  article,  arousing 
such  questions  as  “  Where  is  Hong- Kong?  ”  “  Where  is  Rio  de 

Janeiro  ?  ”  Now  the  news  was  of  bursting  bombs  and  monster 
strikes,  and  the  question,  “  How  can  I  get  my  hands  upon 
the  throat  of  the  man  who  is  richer  than  I  and  choke  him  to 
death  ?  ”  He  shook  his  great  head  and  paused  a  moment  in  the 
tornado  of  his  speech.  I  lifted  a  copy  of  John  Swinton' s  Paper 
from  his  desk  and  said,  “  But  here,  my  friend,  is  something  better 
than  the  Police  Gazette.  You  at  least  would  help  these  men  to 
a  better  road,  and,  little  as  you  think  of  me,  I  would  cool  their 
brains  from  the  alcohol  delirium.”  He  dropped  the  splendid 
jeremiad,  smiled  a  radiant  glance  upon  our  quiet  trio,  said,  “  I 
was  tired  ;  I  did  not  sleep  last  night.  Am  charmed  to  meet  you 
ladies  ;  delighted  by  much  that  you  have  told  me,”  and  we  shook 
hands  with  him  and  his  gentle  monitor,  and  went  on  our  way 
believing  that  all  of  us,  after  our  fashion,  are*  trying  to  help  solve 
the  problem  of  poor  old  Humanity’s  bewilderment  and  heartache. 

NELSON  SIZER. 

A  most  antithetical  character  to  burly  John  Swinton  is  Nel¬ 
son  Sizer,  for  thirty  years  the  head  examiner  of  Fowler  &  Wells. 
Anna  Gordon  had  a  fancy  that  I  should  let  him  know  who  I  was 
when  we  dropped  in  one  day  to  look  at  the  collection  of  casts, 
whereupon  he  proceeded  to  give  me  the  benefit  of  his  life-long 
studies  of  the  “bumps.”  I  told  him  that  mother  always  had  a 
kind  side  for  phrenology,  one  of  her  earliest  and  most  oft-repeated 
remarks  to  me  having  been  this:  “You  have  combativencss 
largely  developed,  my  child.”  After  a  fashion  as  cheery  as  John 
Swinton  seemed  sad,  Nelson  Sizer  is  the  talker  among  ten  thou¬ 
sand.  He  seems  to  be  endowed  with  the  balanced,  or  “  tempered 
temperament,”  as  Henry  Tuckerman,  the  essayist,  used  to  call  it. 
His  vocabulary  is  boundless,  its  pictorial  quality  exhaustless,  and 
his  anecdotes  many  and  apt.  A  skilled  stenographer  with  a  little 
stenographic  type- writing  machine  sat  near  him  ;  and  as  he  walked 
34  " 


530 


Total  Abstinence  in  the  White  House . 


back  and  forth,  between  making  his  cranial  observations,  Mr. 
Sizer  had  only  to  speak  his  mind  and  the  swift  click  of  the  ma¬ 
chine  did  all  the  rest.  When  I  told  him  of  the  tens  of  thousands 
of  letters  received  and  written  at  Rest  Cottage,  he  said,  “  And  do 
you  people  waste  yourselves  on  that  eternal  scratching  ?  It  is  the 
poorest  of  economy.  You  could  quadruple  your  efficiency  by 
dictation.”  I  asked  him  if  he  thought  I  could  after  a  life-time  of 
thinking  along  a  pen-holder  learn  to  work  in  this  easier  harness, 
and  he  said,  “  My  own  experience  is  that  twenty  days  of  this  new 
liberty  will  make  you  quit  the  other  method  forever  and  a  day.” 

FRANCES  FOLSOM  CLEVELAND. 

During  the  Cleveland  administration  I  attended  a  reception 
given  at  the  White  House  to  the  Woman’s  International  Council, 
and  thought  the  President  seemed  somewhat  taken  back  by  the 
invasion  of  such  an  army  of  representative  women,  although  he 
was  all  that  one  could  wish  in  the  way  of  cordiality,  and  Mrs. 
Cleveland  wore  her  usual  charming  smile.  I  had  seen  her  when 
she  was  a  school-girl  at  Wells  College,  where  I  went  to  speak  by 
invitation  of  the  lady  principal,  Miss  Smith,  a  life-long  friend  of 
my  sister-in-law,  Mary  B.  Willard.  My  niece,  Katharine  Will¬ 
ard,  who  was  a  student  there,  was  one  of  Mrs.  Cleveland’s 
special  friends,  and  has  received  from  her  at  the  White  House 
many  tokens  of  her  loyal  remembrance  and  affection.  I  spoke 
to  the  young  ladies  at  Wells  College  on  the  duty  that  girls  owe  to 
their  country  as  well  as  themselves  and  the  homes  of  the  future, 
urging  upon  them  the  motto,  “  Noblesse  oblige ,”  and  I  remember 
that  my  niece  and  Miss  Folsom  accompanied  me  in  the  omnibus 
to  the  railway  train,  and  seemed  entirely  sympathetic  with  what 
I  had  said.  Mrs.  Cleveland  has  written  me  letters  showing  her 
devotion  as  a  Christian  woman  to  what  she  believes  to  be  right, 
and  assuring  me  of  her  steadfast  total  abstinence  principles.  I 
hold  her  in  the  highest  honor  and  regard,  and  believe  that  no 
woman  of  her  age  has  ever  had  it  in  her  power  and  in  her  heart 
to  do  more  for  the  sacred  cause  of  temperance.  The  position  of 
a  total  abstainer  in  the  White  House  is,  of  necessity,  a  difficult 
one,  because  of  the  inevitable  contact  with  the  representatives 
of  other  nations  whose  temperance  ideas  are  even  less  advanced 
than  those  of  our  own  high  officials. 


A  Valhalla  of  Its  Own. 


53i 


THE  BEECHER  FAMILY. 

When  but  a  school-girl,  the  sense  of  the  worshipful  in  me 
bowed  down  before  the  first  member  of  this  magnificent  family 
that  my  eyes  had  yet  beheld  ;  the  woman  who  had  built  her 
whole  life  into  the  rising  temple  of  woman’s  work  and  worth.  I 
looked  for  “  somebody  wonderful  to  behold.” 

4 

Catherine  Beecher  wras  really  the  first  distinguished  woman 
that  I  met.  On  one  of  her  trips  to  visit  and  inspect  her  favorite 
college  at  Milwaukee,  she  came  to  Evanston  and  was  the  guest 
of  my  friend  and  benefactress,  Mrs.  Dr.  Kidder.  I  entered  the 
room  where  I  was  told  she  was,  wfith  a  feeling  of  appropriate  awe, 
which  was,  however,  soon  dispelled  by  the  wholly  unconven¬ 
tional  manner  of  the  sturdy  little  woman  who  was  putting  on  her 
rubbers  preparatory  to  a  walk.  She  seemed  to  me  essentially 
Beecherish,  like  a  lump  of  ore  out  of  the  mine,  not  smelted  in 
the  mill  of  custom  nor  hammered  into  shape  on  the  anvil  of  preju¬ 
dice.  To  me  the  Beecher  family  has  always  lived  in  a  Valhalla 
of  its  own,  and  been  an  original  force,  strong  and  refreshing  as 
Nature  herself.  My  parents  were  never  done  talking  about  them 
and  holding  them  up  as  examples.  I  have  improved  every  un¬ 
forced  opportunity  to  meet  the  different  members,  and  have  had 
personal  acquaintance  with  eight  out  of  the  twelve. 

At  Elmira,  where  I  had  the  pleasure  of  being  a  guest  in  the 
well-known  water-cure  conducted  by  the  Gleason  family,  I  met 
Thomas  K.  and  Mrs.  Beecher  in  their  own  home,  and  in  their 
church  at  an  evening  sociable.  Brother  Thomas  was  so  genial 
that  I  said  to  his  wife,  “  He  is  one  of  the  most  affable  men  I  ever 
saw,  and  yet  I  had  been  told  he  was  a  man  of  moods.”  “Ah, 
well,”  she  answered  in  her  cheery  tones,  “you  have  seen  my  bear 
when  his  coat  was  stroked  the  right  vray,  and  I’m  glad  of  it.” 

Henry  Ward  Beecher  was  always  my  mother’s  hero  beyond 
all  other  men.  His  sermons  were  her  Sunday  reading  in  the  Inde¬ 
pendent  and  the  Christian  Union  for  many  a  year.  She  never 
saw  him  until  in  one  of  his  last  trips  West  he  came  to  Evanston 
to  speak,  and  it  grieved  me  that  in  my  absence  she  failed  to  meet 
him  personally,  for  he  never  had  a  warmer  friend  or  one  more 
true  and  steadfast  in  the  night  of  his  great  calamity.  She  would 
not  hear  a  word  against  him,  and  her  sturdy  strength,  when 


532 


A  Grown-up  Boy. 


almost  every  one  around  her  wavered,  gave  me  a  new  sense  of  her 
native  force  of  character. 

Mr.  Beecher  was  more  than  any  other  man,  a  grown-up  boy. 
It  was  seen  in  his  whole  manner.  The  very  way  in  which  he 
would  take  off  that  broad  felt  hat  and  tuck  it  under  the  chair  or 
pulpit  as  he  sat  down ;  the  way  in  which  he  would  push  back  his 
hair  and  drum  with  his  fingers  on  the  chair  arm  ;  the  curious  for¬ 
getfulness  that  frequently  led  him  to  wear  his  rubbers  into  the 
pulpit  and  stand  up  in  them  to  preach,  showed  the  unpremeditated 
character  of  his  words  and  thoughts.  His  “  Lectures  to  Young 
Men”  was  one  of  the  first  books  read  by  my  brother  and  me. 
His  papers  on  Pomology  were  special  pets  with  my  father,  wrho 
was  as  fond  of  horticulture  as  Beecher  himself. 

In  1876,  by  invitation  of  Mary  A.  Livermore,  I  was  her 
guest  for  a  day  at  the  Twin  Mountain  House,  New  Hampshire. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Beecher  were  there  as  usual.  I  sat  at  the  same 
table,  but  not  near  enough  to  speak  beyond  the  mere  acknowl¬ 
edgment  of  the  introductions  with  which  I  was  then  for  the  first 
time  honored. 

Next  morning,  the  guests  of  the  hotel  all  gathered  in  the 
parlors,  as  the  custom  was,  and  Mr.  Beecher  conducted  family 
prayers.  In  my  pocket  testament  I  find  these  notes,  penciled  at 
the  time : 

Twin  Mountain  House,  August  18,  1876. 

As  usual  Mr.  Beecher  conducted  morning  prayers.  Hon.  William 
Wheeler,  a  worthy  candidate  for  vice-president,  was  present,  also  Mrs. 
Beecher  and  Mrs.  Livermore.  The  exposition  of  Romans  xiv.  and  the 
prayer  of  Mr.  Beecher  were  memorable  and  beautiful  and  helpful  to  my 
soul.  There  was  in  them  so  much  of  breadth,  of  strength  and  gentleness. 
In  a  word,  they  had  the  Christ-like  spirit.  He  desired  us  to  ask  questions, 
and  mine  was  on  the  twenty-first  verse,  “It  is  good  neither  to  eat  flesh  nor 
to  drink  wine.” 

Mr.  Beecher  was  very  earnest  in  his  reply.  “It  is  just  like  this,”  he 
said  :  “  vSuppose  there  is  a  precipice  out  by  a  school-house  where  many  chil¬ 
dren  are  assembled.  Suppose  that  half  way  down  that  precipice  there  is  a 
spring  I  specially  enjoy,  and,  strong  man  that  I  am,  I  can  go  down  there 
safely,  by  a  narrow  path,  dangerous  to  many,  but  not  to  me.  Suppose 
that  the  children  are  determined  to  go  down  there  after  me  and  won’t 
believe  the  path  is  dangerous  since  they  see  that  I  tread  it  with  impunity. 
Some  of  them  that  try  it  fall  and  break  their  necks  and  others  are  lamed 
for  life.  Now  what  sort  of  a  man,  much  more,  what  sort  of  a  Christian 
should  I  be,  if,  under  these  circumstances,  I  persisted  in  going  down  that 


A  t  Plym  o  u  th  Ch  u  rch . 


533 


dangerous  path  ?  Nay  verily,  if  I  have  one  particle  of  magnanimity  of  soul, 
if  I  have  been  at  all  taught  of  Christ,  I  shall  put  a  good,  strong  fence  across 
that  path  and  never  tread  it  any  more.  That’s  my  position  on  the  total  ab¬ 
stinence  question  ;  that’s  why  I  am,  myself,  a  total  abstainer  and  shall 
alw’ays  be  unless  I  take  alcoholic  drinks  by  a  physician’s  prescription.  For 
why  should  I  insist  on  drinking  wTine,  even  if  I  were  fond  of  it  ?  which  I  am 
not.  It  would  do  me  no  special  good,  and  wThat  I  gain  in  character  by  the 
habit  of  studying  the  good  of  others  is  an  incalculable  and  an  eternal  gain.” 

Mr.  Beecher  then  went  on  to  say  that  relative  to  the  question  of  going 
to  the  theater  he  held  the  same  position.  “  I  -would  like  to  see  Edwin 
Booth,”  he  said;  “I  would  like  to  see  Ristori  and  greatly  would  it  have 
delighted  me  to  watch  Rachel,  but  I  was  never  in  a  theater  in  my  life,  and 
on  precisely  the  same  basis  that  I  never  drink  wTine.”  He  also  testified 
strongly  against  the  use  of  tobacco  in  any  form.  I  asked  him  about  speak¬ 
ing  in  a  criticising  way  of  people,  and  his  answer  was  most  noble  ;  I  wish  in 
these  notes  I  could  but  do  it  justice,  the  gist  of  it  was  this  :  have  no  rule 
about  it,  but  keep  your  own  heart  so  full  of  loving  kindness  that  the  words 
that  brim  over  will  take  care  of  themselves. 

At  the  great  meeting  arranged  for  me  in  Plymouth  Church 
by  the  Brooklyn  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union,  he  pre¬ 
sided,  saying,  just  before  I  came  forward,  “  Pardon  me,  if  I  leave 
the  platform  to  sit  beside  my  wife — I  almost  never  get  the  chance 
to  do  so  in  this  church,  you  see;”  and  after  I  had  finished  he 
walked  up  the  steps,  smiling,  and  pointing  toward  me  as  he 
came,  then  turning  to  the  audience,  he  said  in  his  dramatic  way, 
‘‘And  yeb — she  can  not  vote  !  Are  n’t  you  ashamed,  men,  that 
this  should  be  ?  ” 

I  was  grateful  indeed  to  him  for  thus  clear^  taking  sides  with 
the  sacred  cause  of  women’s  enfranchisement — but  then,  he  was 
President  of  the  “  American  Woman  Suffrage  Association  ”  away 
back  in  1870.  I  had  spoken  as  strongly  as  I  was  able  in  favor 
of  prohibition  as  the  best  method  of  dealing  with  the  liquor 
traffic,  and  he  said  distinctly,  “  Not  a  wrord  has  been  uttered,  but 
that  we  all  know  to  be  just  and  true  and  right.”  This  too 
seemed  natural,  for  was  not  his  very  first  temperance  speech, 
when  he  was  an  Amherst  collegian,  in  favor  of  a  law  against 
the  liquor  traffic  ? 

After  these  two  sermons  in  a  sentence,  he  proceeded  to  make 
such  a  ‘  ‘  collection  speech  ’  ’  as  outdid  all  I  ever  heard  elsewhere 
for  wit  and  wisdom.  Of  course  everybody  ‘‘stayed  through” 
and  the  baskets  came  back  actually  full  —  I  have  never  seen 
them  thus  except  on  that  occasion. 


534 


Sermons  on  Evolution. 


I  believe  him  to  have  been  in  hearty  accord  with  us  of  the 
white  ribbon  movement,  except  as  he  was  led  away  by  the 
“  high-license  ”  theory,  like  many  another  good,  but  deceived 
man  in  New  York,  Brooklyn  and  elsewhere. 

The  last  time  I  ever  saw  him  was  in  1886  as  he  descended 
from  his  pulpit  after  the  sermon.  Having  heard  in  later  days 
that  he  had  abjured  his  total  abstinence  principles,  I  went  to 
him  and  said  : 

‘  ‘  Mr.  Beecher,  I  am  denying  what  the  papers  say  about 
your  drinking  wine  and  ale  —  that  is  what  you  expect  of  me  I 
hope  ?  ’  ’ 

He  smiled,  shook  hands  cordially  and  answered  as  the  throng 
pressed  upon  him,  “Yes,  you  are  right — I  stand  where  I  always 
did,  but  I  have  no  harsh  word  for  my  brethren  in  the  ministry 
who  do  not  see  as  I  do.”  This  was  his  testimony  the  last  time  I 
ever  heard  his  kindly  voice  and  it  outweighs  all  testimony  uttered 
against  him. 

I  did  not  agree  with  his  theology,  but  all  the  same  I  bought 
and  read  his  ‘  ‘  Sermons  on  Involution  ’  ’  and  extracted  any  amount 
of  spiritual  nutriment  therefrom  for  my  soul’s  growth.  By  the 
same  token  I  do  not  live  upon  theology,  but  ‘  ‘  by  the  faith  of  the 
Son  of  God,”  and  while  I  glory  in  the  great  men  who,  in  the 
name  of  exact  science,  defend  that  formulation  of  the  faith 
which  my  orthodox  home  cherished,  in  which  I  was  trained 
and  from  which  I  shall  never  depart,  I  can  cherish  Henry  Ward 
Beecher  too,  and  it  would  be  the  joy  of  my  life  if  I  were  sure 
that  I  loved  Christ  as  well  as  he  did. 

Mr.  Beecher  had  a  most  inconvenient  capacity  for  seeing 
both  sides — hence,  men  of  electrotyped  nature  called  him  incon¬ 
sistent.  He  was  not  “  all  of  a  piece  ”  like  certain  accurate  and 
exact  minds,  hence  whoever  sentenced  him  on  the  evidence  of  any 
single  sentence  he  had  uttered  was  sure  to  do  him  wrong.  Per¬ 
haps  the  most  salient  instance  of  this  is  that  one  about  ‘  ‘  Bread 
and  water  ”  so  often  and  so  absurdly  quoted  to  prove  him  an  aris¬ 
tocrat  and  the  enemy  of  wage-workers.  But  to  reason  thus  is 
to  make  a  pyramid  stand  on  its  apex,  for  the  whole  body  of  divin¬ 
ity  that  his  character  and  words  have  given  to  the  world  is  one 
that  glorifies  work  as  a  sacrament  and  makes  ‘  ‘  the  reign  of  the 
common  people  ”  essential  to  the  world's  redemption. 


An  /EAian  Harp. 


535 


“  He  had  his  faults  ”  ;  yes,  so  he  had — -like  all  the  greatest 
and  best  souls  —  of  whom  he  was  one  of  the  best  and  greatest ; 
but,  somehow,  like  my  dear  old  mother,  I  dearly  love  to  praise 
him  —  he  has  been  blamed  so  much  ! 

Genius  would  rather  go  and  tell  its  story  to  the  whole  world 
than  to  an  individual.  There  is  no  stronger  proof  of  its  univer¬ 
sality  than  this.  Poets  and  heroes  always  take  the  human  race 
into  their  confidence — and  to  the  everlasting  credit  of  the  race  let 
it  be  said,  that  confidence  is  not  abused  !  ‘  ‘  The  great,  but  scep- 

tered  sovereigns  who  still  rule  our  spirits  from  their  urns,”  the 
mighty  men  of  whom  ‘  ‘  the  world  talks  while  they  sleep,  ’  ’  have 
loved  the  world,  bemoaned  it  and  believed  in  it.  Henry  Ward 
Beecher  was  one  of  these. 

All  seolian  harp  is  in  my  study  window  as  I  write.  It  seems 
to  me  the  fittest  emblem  of  him  who  has  gone  to  live  elsewhere 
and  left  our  world  in  some  sense  lonely.  The  compass  of  its 
diapason  is  vast*as  the  scope  of  his  mind  ;  its  tenderness  deep  as 
his  heart ;  its  pathos  thrilling  as  his  sympathy  ;  its  aspiration 
triumphant  as  his  faith,  hike  him  it  is  attuned  to  every  faintest 
breath  of  the  great  world-life,  and  like  his,  its  voice  searches  out 
the  innermost  places  of  the  human  spirit.  Jean  Paul  says  of  the 
seolian  harp,  that  it  is,  like  nature,  “passive  before  a  divine 
breath  ’  ’  and  in  him  who  has  gone  from  us  there  was  this  ele¬ 
mental  receptivity  of  God.  Other  natures  have  doubtless  devel¬ 
oped  that  God-consciousness  which  is  the  sum  of  all  perfections, 
to  a  degree  as  wonderful  as  Mr.  Beecher  did,  but  what  other,  in 
our  time,  at  least,  has  been  en  rapport  so  perfect  with  those  about 
him  that  they  could  share  with  him  this  blissful  consciousness  to 
a  degree  as  great?  John  Henry  Newman  says,  “To  God  must 
be  ascribed  the  radiation  of  genius.  ”  No  great  character  of  whom 
I  can  think  illustrates  that  most  unique  and  felicitous  phrase  so 
clearly  as  Henry  Ward  Beecher.  His  was  the  great,  radiating  spirit 
of  our  nation  and  our  age.  For  fifty  years  his  face  shone,  his 
tones  vibrated,  his  pen  was  electric  with  the  sense  of  a  divine  pres¬ 
ence,  not  for  his  home  only,  not  for  his  church  or  his  nation,  but 
for  Christendom.  He  radiated  all  that  he  absorbed  and  his  capa¬ 
cious  nature  was  the  reservoir  of  all  that  is  best  in  books,  art,  and 
life.  But  as  fuel  turns  to  fire,  and  oil  to  light,  so  in  the  laboratory 
of  his  brain,  the  raw  materials  of  history,  poetry  and  science  were 


536 


In  the  Alembic  of  Memory. 


wrought  over  into  radiant  and  radiating  forces  which  warmed  and 
illumined  human  souls.  Plymouth  Church  was  the  most  home¬ 
like  place  that  could  be  named  ;  its  pulpit  a  glowing  fireside  ever 
ready  to  cheer  the  despondent  and  warm  those  hearts  the  world 
had  chilled.  No  man  ever  spoke  so  often  or  wrote  so  much  whose 
classic,  historic,  and  poetical  allusions  were  so  few,  but  the  potency 
of  every  good  thing  ever  learned  by  him  who  was  an  insatiable 
student  of  nature  and  an  omnivorous  reader  of  books,  was  all 
wrought,  in  the  alembic  of  his  memory,  into  new  forms  and  com¬ 
binations.  He  intersphered  so  perfectly  with  the  minds  and 
hearts  about  him,  that  he  seemed  to  them  a  veritable  possession. 
The  interpenetrative  character  of  his  mind  has  not  been  matched, 
for  the  reason  that  he  was  that  doubly  dowered  phenomenon — a 
great  brain  mated  to  a  heart  as  great.  This  royal  gift  of  sym¬ 
pathy  enabled  him  to  make  all  lives  his  own  ;  hence,  he  so  under¬ 
stood  as  to  have  charity  for  all.  As  Sir  James  Mackintosh  has 
said,  ‘  ‘  If  we  knew  each  other  better,  it  would  ncft  be  to  love  each 
other  less.”  It  was  because,  in  human  measure,  our  great  friend 
“  knew  what  was  in  man  ”  that  men  so  loved  him. 

“  What  I  aspired  to  be 
And  was  not,  comforts  me,” 

is  the  sweet  song  in  minor  key  that  every  heart  has  sometime 
sung.  Our  friend  knew  these  aspirations  better  than  any  other 
preacher  of  his  time,  and  spoke  out  frankly  of  them  to  his 
brother  men.  Since  Terence  uttered  the  words,  no  life  has  echoed 
them  so  roundly  as  this  life  now  transplanted  to  the  skies,  ‘  ‘  I  am 
human  and  whatever  touches  humanity  touches  me.”  For  this 
reason  he  was  born  a  patriot,  a  philanthropist  and  a  reformer. 
We  read  of  “  epoch-making  books,”  but  here  was  an  epoch-mak¬ 
ing  character. 

Goethe  said  that  when  any  one  did  a  great  deed,  the  world 
at  once  formed  a  conspiracy  to  prevent  him  from  ever  doing 
another.  The  demands  of  a  personal  nature  that  come  to  every 
person  of  the  least  achievement — demands  for  “  inflooence,”  as 
the  lamented  Nasby  taught  us  to  say  ;  for  letters,  autographs,  and 
“situations,”  were  what  this  greatest  of  the  Germans  meant. 
Emerson  says  in  tones  of  pathos,  ‘  ‘  Why  should  we  desecrate 
noble  and  beautiful  souls  by  intruding  on  them  ?  ”  Why  should 
we,  indeed  ?  If  we  will  but  leave  them  free,  they  will  last  longer 


Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 


537 


and  accomplish  more  in  those  great  lines  of  thought  and  action 
that  they  and  we  both  have  at  heart.  I  was  sorry  that  Charles 
Sumner  said  to  Julia  Ward  Howe — if  indeed  he  did  so  say,  as  was 
reported — when  she  came  to  him  for  help  in  the  care  of  a  poor 
negro,  “  Madam,  I  am  trying  to  lift  up  a  race,  do  not  ask  me  to 
take  my  time  for  individuals.”  I  do  not  think  that  Henry  Ward 
Beecher  would  ever  have  said  that,  but  we  can  ourselves  defend 
the  magnanimous  souls  who  like  him  seem  to  have  no  weapons 
of  self-defense  from  those  constant  interruptions  and  personal 
demands  which  yield  but  little  in  the  way  of  valuable  results,  and 
thus  leave  them  free  to  live  their  own  lives  and  work  out  their  own 
great  destinies,  helped  by  our  prayers,  our  love  for  them,  our  faith 
in  their  sincerity  and  their  success.  How  often  have  I  said  this 
in  my  heart  of  some  among  my  elect  circle  of  heroes  and  heroines, 
with  the  inspiration  of  this  one  thought  more  :  “If  ever  I  reach 
your  level  in  this  or  any  world,  I  shall  find  myself  face  to  face 
with  you  by  the  law  of  spiritual  gravitation,  and  shall  need  no 
note  of  introduction.” 

HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 

It  is  stated  by  those  who  are  informed,  that  except  the  Bible 
no  book  ever  written  has  had  a  circulation  so  boundless  as  “Un¬ 
cle  Tom’s  Cabin.”  Translated  into  a  score  of  languages,  issued 
in  a  hundred  different  editions,  scattered  as  far  as  printer’s  ink 
has  ever  gone,  that  mother-hearted  book  has  been  one  of  Christ’s 
evangels  to  humanity. 

On  our  return  (October  22,  1887)  from  the  Connecticut  W. 
C.  T.  U.  Convention,  at  Bridgeport,  Anna  Gordon  and  I  availed 
ourselves  of  the  opportunity  received  through  the  kindness  of 
Mrs.  J.  G.  Parsons,  of  Hartford,  to  grasp  the  hand  that  wrote  the 
matchless  book.  We  drove  to  her  pleasant  home  on  Farmington 
street,  in  the  elegant  city  of  Hartford.  Mark  Twain’s  home  is 
within  a  stone’s  throw,  so  is  Charles  Dudley  Warner’s  ;  while 
Judge  John  Hooker  and  Isabella  Beecher  Hooker,  his  wife,  are 
but  a  few  blocks  distant. 

An  autumnal  chrorno  in  maple  stood  before  the  door  of  a 
tasteful,  lilac-colored  wooden  house  of  medium  size,  with  porch 


538 


A  Little  Woman  Entered. 


over  the  front,  and  old-fashioned  hallway  through  the  centre. 
Three  well-to-do  eats,  one  yellow,  one  tortoise,  one  black,  and 
all  handsome,  had  dignified  positions  on  the  walk,  the  porch,  and 
the  rug  before  the  door. 

The  bell  was  promptly  answered  by  a  plump  colored  maid 
who  evinced  uncertainty  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  her  mistress. 
A  voice  from  upstairs  called  out,  “  I  am  at  home — I  am  at  home,” 
and  we  were  shown  into  a  pleasant  study  with  book-cases,  easy- 
eliairs,  w7riting-table,  and  many  photographs,  the  largest  being 
of  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  evidently  taken  just  before  his  last  ill¬ 
ness,  the  hair  snow-white. 

A  little  woman  entered,  seventy-five  years  old,  decidedly 
undersized,  and  weighing  less  than  a  hundred  pounds.  She  was 
very  simply  attired  in  a  dress  of  black  and  white  check,  with 
linen  collar  and  small  brooch,  her  hair,  which  had  once  been 
brown,  hung  huffily  upon  a  broad  brow  and  was  bound  by  a  black 
ribbon  in  front  and  gathered  in  a  low  knot  behind.  Her  nose  is 
long  and  straight,  her  eyes  are  dimmed  by  years,  her  mouth  is 
large,  and  with  the  long,  Beecher  lip,  full  of  the  pathos  of  human¬ 
ity’s  mystical  estate. 

This  is  what  Time  has  left  of  the  immortal  Harriet  Beecher 
Stowe.  She  greeted  us  with  cordial  hand  and  voice  and  smile. 

“  On  a  Wisconsin  farm,  away  back  in  the  fifties,  I  read  Un¬ 
cle  Tom,  and  have  always  dreamed  that  some  day  I  should  see 
its  author,”  was  my  inane  remark. 

“  Nobody  is  so  much  surprised  about  Uncle  Tom  as  I  am,” 
she  replied.  “I  first  intended  to  write  two  or  three  numbers, 
and  when  I  got  going  could  not  stop.” 

“  The  world  now  knows  that  your  pen  was  divinely  guided,  ” 
I  said.  “  Do  you  not  believe  that  pens  and  voices  are  constrained 
from  on  high  ?  ” 

She  smiled,  nodded  her  head,  and  made  a  most  dulcet  remark 
to  the  following  effect: 

“  You  have  written  a  very  valuable  book  yourself,  ‘  How  to 
Wind  I  have  it  on  my  mantel-shelf  upstairs,  I  want  all  our  girls 
to  read  it.” 

“  I  little  thought  that  anything  ever  done  by  me  would  win 
such  words  of  praise  from  the  most  distinguished  of  my  country¬ 
women,”  was  my  grateful  reply,  at  which  she  smiled  and  said  : 


“  Whatever  Ought  to  Happen  Will  Happen.  ’  ’  539 

“  Oh  !  you  are  doing  and  saying  more  valuable  things  than 
you  know.” 

Her  praise  was  sweet,  but  I  had  grace  given  me  to  change 
the  subject. 

“  It  does  me  good  to  hear  that  you  are  a  remarkable  pedes¬ 
trian,”  I  said.  Her  glance  kindled. 

“Indeed,  I  am,  I  learned  that  long  ago  at  a  water-cure, ” 
she  answered  ;  “  I  go  out  in  the  morning  and  again  in  the  after¬ 
noon,  making  from  five  to  seven  miles  daily.  If  I  am  not  feeling 
well  I  can  usually  walk  it  off,  or  if  not,  I  sleep  it  off,  going  to 
bed  by  eight  o’clock.” 

“Do  you  go  walking  alone?”  I  said,  admitting  that  “for 
my  part,  I  wanted  ‘  a  friend  in  my  retreat  to  Whom  I  might  whis¬ 
per  solitude  is  sweet.  ’  ’  ’ 

“  But  I  can  not  have  it  so,  and  though  I  would  prefer  com¬ 
pany,  I  go  alone,”  she  answered,  adding,  in  reply  to  Mrs.  Parsons’ 
query,  that  she  “was  in  excellent  health,  never  better.” 

Speaking  of  her  brother  Henry’s  pictures,  she  said,  “That 
profile  is  like  him — it  has  his  uplift  glance.  The  full-faced  one  I 
do  not  like.  I  think  the  photographer  must  have  been  flattering 
him,  hoping  to  get  a  good  impression,  and  nothing  made  him  so 
cross  as  that.” 

.She  told  us  that  her  “  twin  daughters  kept  the  house  and 
would  not  let  her  do  a  thing,  which  was  as  well,  since  they  knew 
how  she  wanted  everything  done.’7  She  showed  us  a  charming 
photograph  of  her  grandson,  saying,  “  He  is  so  handsome  that 
he  is  not  vain,  and  the  way  of  it  is  this  :  he  has  heard  himself 
called  handsome  since  his  earliest  recollection  and  thinks  it  is 
some  quality  belonging  to  all  boys.” 

“  Well,”  I  said,  “  you  have  told  us  that  ‘  whatever  ought  to 
happen  will  happen  ’  and  as  everybody  ought  to  be  beautiful, 
doubtless  some  day  everybody  will  be.” 

“We  can  not  dictate  to  God,”  she  answered  earnestly,  “  but 
we  know  He  desires  that  we  shall  all  have  the  beauty  of  holi¬ 
ness.  ” 

I  told  her  of  my  dear  old  mother,  “Saint  Courageous,”  to 
whom  she  sent  her  love,  adding,  “  I  love  everybody  ;  as  I  walk 
alone  in  the  fields  and  along  the  streets,  meeting  many  who  speak 


54° 


“  Good  Deacon  Willard 


a  friendly  word  to  me,  I  rejoice  to  think  how  much  I  love  them, 
and  every  creature  that  God  has  made.” 

I  repeated  this  verse  from  one  of  her  poems : 

“  It  lies  around  us  like  a  cloud, 

A  world  we  do  not  see  ; 

Yet  the  sweet  closing  of  an  eye 
May  bring  us  there  to  be,” 

and  told  her  how  in  hours  of  grief  the  poem  had  comforted  my 
heart.  At  this  she  took  me  by  the  hand,  saying  earnestly,  “  God 
help  you,  God  be  with  you.”  I  kissed  the  dear,  old,  wrinkled 
hand  that  in  its  strength  had  written  “  Uncle  Tom’s  Cabin  ”  ;  she 
gave  a  kind  good-by  to  each  of  us,  and  we  went  our  ways — to 
meet  “some  sweet  day,  by  and  by,”  in  heaven. 

DEACON  WIDEARD. 

When  working  in  the  revival  with  Mr.  Moody  in  Chicago, 
January,  1877,  I  met  for  the  first  time  Deacon  E.  A.  Willard,  a 
well-known  leader  for  many  years  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  My  witty 
Irish  friend,  Mrs.  Kate  McGowan,  spoke  to  me  of  him  first,  and 
said,  ‘  ‘  If  you  wish  to  be  forever  a  favorite  of  this  lovely  old 
gentleman,  you  must  respond  to  the  question  he  will  be  sure  to 
ask,  namely,  What  single  passage  of  Scripture  contains  within 
it  the  whole  plan  of  salvation  ?  you  must  speak  up  brightly  and 
say,  ‘Acts  x:43,’  and  there  is  nothing  that  he  will  not  do  for 
you  from  that  time  forth.” 

He  was  one  of  the  loveliest  old  men  in  face,  manner  and  spirit 
that  I  ever  saw.  His  whole  soul  was  absorbed  in  his  own  method 
of  presenting  the  plan  of  salvation,  which  he  did  with  remark¬ 
able  clearness  and  efficiency.  He  has  doubtless  been  the  means 
of  the  conversion  of  more  persons  than  the  entire  membership  of 
an  average  church  can  show  for  all  its  work  in  any  given  year, 
perhaps  in  several  years.  At  this  time  I  wras  intensely  stirred  by 
the  desire  and  purpose  that  my  brother  should  be  converted  over 
again,  for  although  at  twelve  years  of  age  he  had  started  in  the 
Christian  life,  had  graduated  in  theology  at  twenty-five,  and 
become  Presiding  Elder  of  the  Denver  District,  Colorado,  at 
twenty-seven,  he  had  some  years  after  that  seemed  to  fall  away 
from  his  allegiance,  and  the  dearest  wish  of  our  hearts  was  that 
he  should  return  to  the  Shepherd  amj  Bishop  of  his  soul,  and  of 


Angling  for  Souls." 


54i 


<  < 


all  our  souls.  I  had  told  Mr.  Moody  of  this,  and  urged  his  help, 
but  he  answered,  “I  am  so  preoccupied  that  I  can  not  see  indi¬ 
vidual  cases,  but  I  will  pray  for  you  and  you  must  work  and 
pray.”  Just  then  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  this  dear  patriarch, 
Deacon  Willard,  and  told  him  all  my  heart  about  my  brother, 
begging  him  not  to  go  at  first  on  a  religious  mission,  but  to  call 
upon  him  as  a  friend  and  a  possible  relative.  My  brother,  like 
my  father,  was  exceedingly  interested  in  the  annals  of  his  family, 
and  delighted  to  read  the  Willard  Memoir,  the  History  of  Dublin. 
N.  H.,  with  which  his  great-grandfather,  Rev.  Elijah  Willard, 
was  so  long  connected,  the  History  of  Marlborough,  N.  H.,  and 
indeed  every  scrap  that  he  could  learn  touching  his  lineage  was 
sedulously  treasured.  On  the  contrary,  Deacon  Willard  seemed 
to  care  very  little  about  all  this,  but,  as  he  said,  he  had  ‘‘learned 
to  angle  skillfully  for  souls.”  Going  to  my  brother’s  editorial 
sanctum  at  a  time  when  I  told  him  he  would  be  most  likely  not 
to  be  preoccupied,  the  Deacon  talked  up  ancestry  with  great 
spirit,  told  my  brother  he  believed  they  were  related,  that  he  had 
no  son  himself  and  as  my  brother  had  not  long  since  lost  his 
father,  he  proposed  they  should  ‘  ‘  club  together  and  make  believe 
father  and  son.”  So  with  much  bright  and  genial  talk,  he  threw 
his  arm  over  my  brother’s  broad  shoulders  and  said,  “  Eet  us  go 
to  lunch,  Willard,  and  talk  this  matter  over  more  at  length.”  So 
it  began  and  the  rest  of  the  story  is  told  in  the  priceless  letter 
which  I  preserve  in  my  dear  old  friend’s  handwriting.  We 
learred  that  we  were  really  cousins  at  two  removes,  but  I  am  sure 
we  shall  be  nearer  of  kin  than  that  when  we  meet  in  the  Celes¬ 
tial  Mansion,  to  which,  as  I  believe,  that  gentle  old  hand  was 
God’s  instrument  to  open  the  way  for  one  we  loved  so  well. 

WALT  WHITMAN. 

One  Christmas  I  was  in  the  home  of  Mrs.  Hannah  Whitall 
Smith,  where  I  have  met  many  most  interesting  literary  people 
at  her  “hobby  parties,”  which  are  a  witty  invention  of  her 
gifted  husband,  herself  or  her  ingenious  children,  I  do  not 
know  which,  the  plan  being  to  have  some  person  of  distinction 
in  a  particular  line  of  literary,  moral  or  religious  activity,  as 
the  central  figure  of  the  evening.  Each  of  these  persons 
brings  out  his  or  her  hobby,  and  paces  it  up  and  down  before 


542 


The  Wake  Robin. 


the  group,  after  which  any  other  person  has  a  right  to  ride  upon 
it,  if  so  disposed.  This  results  in  a  really  charming  and  informal 
conversation,  following  the  brief  special  disquisition,  and  is  the 
most  enjoyable  home  entertainment  I  ever  attended. 

Finally  the  suggestion  was  made,  “  Why  not  ask  Walt  Whit¬ 
man,  who  lives  just  across  here  in  Camden?  let  us  see  him  for 
ourselves  ;  ”  and  the  invitation  went.  In  due  process  of  time, 
there  appeared  on  the  scene  a  man  about  seventy  years  of  age, 
attired  in  gray,  from  his  soft  gray  overcoat  to  his  old-fasliioned 
gray  mittens,  with  sparse  gray  hair,  kind,  twinkling  gray  eyes, 
and  russet  apple  cheeks,  the  mildest,  most  modest  and  simple- 
hearted  man  I  ever  saw.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  a  grand  old  oak 
had  opened  suddenly  and  turned  the  good,  gray  poet  loose  upon 
the  world.  He  is  the  farthest  possible  from  being  leonine  in 
aspect  or  intent.  He  has  no  ends  to  serve,  no  place  to  hold  in 
conversation,  nothing  to  gain  or  lose.  He  is  the  soul  of  geniality 
and  seems  never  better  pleased  than  when  others  are  talking  and 
he  is  seated  in  a  large  arm-chair  gazing  reflectively  into  the 
glowing  grate.  But  if  you  talk  of  Nature  and  her  shy  ways,  he 
is  at  home.  I  remember  his  look  of  amused  surprise  when  some¬ 
one  mentioned  the  title  of  one  of  his  books,  The  Wake  Robin,” 
and  he  told  us  John  Burroughs,  who  seems  to  me  to  be  a  sort  of 
spiritual  son  to  Whitman,  had  suggested  it.  I  said,  “  I  did  not 
know  what  a  Wake  Robin  was,  unless  it  was  a  bird — they  used 
to  wake  me  early  at  Forest  Home  in  olden  days” — when,  behold, 
the  mild  old  man  informed  me  gently  that  it  was  a  flower !  He 
did  not  like  to  talk  about  his  books  and  seemed  to  me  as  a  hunt¬ 
ing  hound  lying  at  full  length  on  the  rug  before  the  Are,  content 
and  quiet,  until  some  reference  is  made  to  horses,  hunting-horns 
and  guns,  when  it  rises  up,  intent,  alert,  electrified  with  activity. 
So  the  common  hum  and  talk  seemed  quieting  to  Father  Walt, 
but  when  Tlioreau  or  Burroughs  were  referred  to,  or  a  quotation 
given  from  Wordsworth,  Thomson,  or  some  dear  Nature-lover,  the 
kindly  eyes  beamed  upon  us  with  joy,  and  some  pithy  sentence, 
clean-cut  enough  to  be  a  proverb,  fell  from  his  lips.  What  he 
really  is  I  do  not  know.  I  only  tell  about  him  as  he  was  to  me, 
and  his  sense  of  God,  Nature  and  Human  Brotherhood  struck  me 
as  having  been  raised  to  such  a  power,  and  fused  in  such  a  white 
heat  of  devotion,  that  they  made  the  man  a  genius. 


An  Indian  Civilizer. 


543 


CAPTAIN  PRATT  AND  THE  CARLISLE  INDIAN  SCHOOL. 

Captain  Pratt  is  a  man  six  feet  in  height,  and  every  inch  a 
soldier.  His  great,  well-balanced  head,  dauntless  profile,  and 
kindly  smile  predict  the  qualities  of  a  born  leader.  A  native 
of  New  York  state,  reared  in  Logansport,  Ind.,  of  Methodist 
parentage  and  training,  but  a  Presbyterian  by  reason  of  his  wife’s 
preference,  he  has  the  root  of  the  matter  in  him  as  a  muscular 
Christian  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Joining  the  Union  forces  as 
a  volunteer  at  the  outbreak  of  the  war,  he  was  appointed  lieuten¬ 
ant  in  the  regular  army  in  1867,  and  assigned  to  a  post  in  the  far 
West.  From  that  time  he  studied  the  Indian  question  at  first 
hand,  and  he  has  become  an  expert,  not  excelled  in  all  the  nation. 
Later  on,  wdien  his  pre-eminent  ability  as  an  Indian  civilizer  came 
to  be  known,  he  was  put  in  charge  of  the  captured  “  hostiles  ”  in 
Florida,  where  he  remained  three  years,  and  was  then  sent  to 
Carlisle,  Pa.,  to  found  and  conduct  an  Indian  school  there.  His 
“views  ”  are  best  expressed  in  his  own  words  : 

“There  are  about  two  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  Indians 
in  the  United  States,  and  there  are  twenty- seven  hundred  coun¬ 
ties.  I  would  divide  them  up,  in  the  proportion  of  about  nine 
Indians  to  a  county,  and  find  them  homes  and  work  among  our 
people  ;  that  would  solve  the  knotty  problem  in  three  years’  time, 
and  there  would  be  no  more  an  “  Indian  Question.”  It  is  folly 
to  handle  them  at  arms-length  ;  we  should  absorb  them  into  our 
national  life  for  their  own  good  and  ours.  It  is  wicked  to  stand 
them  up  as  targets  for  sharp-shooters.  The  Indians  are  just  like 
other  men,  only  minus  their  environment.  Take  a  new-born  baby 
from  the  arms  of  a  cultivated  white  woman,  and  give  it  to  the 
nurture  of  a  Zulu  woman  in  Africa  ;  take  the  Zulu’s  baby  away 
from  her  and  give  it  to  the  cultivated  white  woman.  Twenty-five 
years  later  you  would  have  a  white  savage  in  Africa,  and  a  black 
scholar,  gentleman,  and  Christian  in  America.  This  sharply 
illustrates  what  I  mean.  We  can,  by  planting  the  Indians  among 
us,  make  educated  and  industrious  citizens  of  them. 

“The  Indians  are  naturally  religious,  an  infidel  is  to  them 
an  unknown  quantity.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  familiarize  their 
reverent  minds  with  the  truths  of  the  New  Testament.  Our  Sun¬ 
day-school  and  prayer-meeting  are  the  best  proof  of  their  readiness 
to  take  on  Christianity  ;  their  testimonies  are  full  of  earnestness 


544 


Temperance  at  Carlisle. 


and  genuine  religious  fervor.  If  I  have  a  strong  point  as  their 
friend,  it  is  my  intense  confidence  in  the  holiness  of  hard  work  ; 
the  sanitary  and  ethical  power  of  a  useful  occupation.  Indians, 
as  other  people,  like  to  be  independent,  and  to  do  this  they  must 
earn  money. 

‘  ‘  How  do  3'our  scholars  stand  upon  the  temperance  and 
tobacco  question  ?”  was  my  natural  query. 

“  We  are  a  section  of  the  millennium,  as  I  can  prove,”  replied 
the  Captain  with  pardonable  pride.  ‘  ‘  In  my  nine  years  upon  this 
hill  I  have  had  thirteen  hundred  pupils — eight  hundred  of  them 
young  men.  Intoxicating  liquors  and  tobacco  from  the  first  are 
represented  to  them  as  unhealthful,  uncleanly,  and  wasteful,  and 
they  are  expected  and  required  to  give  them  up.  Except  once  at 
a  county  fair,  where  whisky-sellers  tempted  my  boys  to  go  behind 
the  cattle-sheds  and  drink,  and  where  three  of  them  yielded,  I 
have  not  in  nine  years  had  a  single  case  of  drunkenness  among 
them.  Considering  the  utter  lack  of  training  and  the  universal 
tobacco  heredity,  I  consider  this  remarkable.  We  furnish  them 
very  simple  food,  insist  upon  strict  personal  cleanliness,  and  our 
young  people  readily  fall  in  with  the  prevailing  usages.” 

“  We  keep  them  moving,”  said  the  Captain  as  we  passed 
from  shop  to  shop,  in  this  great,  humming  hive  of  industry,” 
and  they  have  no  time  for  homesickness,  none  for  mischief,  none 
for  regret.” 

4  ‘  Are  the  girls  as  smart  as  the  boys  ?  ’  ’  was  my  ever-recur¬ 
ring  question. 

“  Every  bit,  rather  quicker- witted  on  the  whole,”  was  Cap¬ 
tain  Pratt’s  reply. 

“  The  history  of  the  Indians  as  set  forth  in  books  is  a  bundle 
of  falsehoods,”  he  said.  “  They  are  like  other  people,  and,  un¬ 
provoked  by  outrage  and  injustice,  behave  far  more  peaceably 
than  they  get  credit  for.” 

“  Better  to  capture  them  by  love,  uniform  them  in  blue,  and 
kill  them  with  kindness  than  to  send  out  our  own  boys  in  blue  to 
be  killed  by  them,”  was  my  grateful  commentary.  Anna  and  I 
both  talked  to  them  of  temperance,  and  they  applauded  heartily. 

When  Prohibitionists  come  into  power  they  will,  if  they  do 
not  get  dizzy  on  the  heights,  do  the  Indians  a  sovereign  favor 
by  making  Captain  Pratt  Secretary  of  the  Interior. 


■  '"w"  1 

Kbhb' 

p$ 

•»« 

L(  *■  1 

.  >>V  J 

[,  i  2S5K2jQp3t3&~ 

wp  */ 

'■  | 

l$SKV>,  mnfjjtji  if  tf?? 

$&  :| 

b  ~  A 

THE  DEN — REST  COTTAGE 


545 


Relation  of  Religion  and  Science. 

JOSEPH  COOK. 

The  nineteenth  century  has  its  kings — not  the  puppets  of  a 
succession,  dressed  in  a  little  brief  authority,  but  monarchs  rul¬ 
ing  in  their  own  right,  and  defenders  of  the  faith  by  force  of 
intellect,  variety  of  knowledge,  and  unswerving  devotion  to  Him 
whose  motto  is,  Come,  let  us  reason  together,  and  whose  symbol 
is  the  lighted  torch  of  truth  passing  from  hand  to  hand. 

First  among  these  to-day  stands  Joseph  Cook,  of  Boston. 
The  record  he  has  made  in  the  last  few  years  has  no  parallel  in 
history.  When  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  held  its  second  annual  meeting 
in  Cincinnati,  in  November  of  1875,  probably  there  was  not  a 
delegate  among  us  all  who  had  ever  heard  of  him.  He  began  his 
residence  in  Boston  the  year  of  the  crusade,  as  pastor  of  a  small 
Congregational  church.  In  the  winter  of  1875  he  was  invited  by 
the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  of  that  city,  to  speak  briefly,  on  Monday  of  each 
week,  at  its  noon  prayer-meeting.  This  is  the  day  when  most  de¬ 
nominations  hold  ministers’  meetings,  and  the  ministers  of  Boston 
and  its  suburbs  were  wont  to  adjourn  in  time  for  this  noon  meet¬ 
ing.  In  them  this  Christian  scholar  had  audience  fit  but  few. 
They  were  no  less  delighted  than  astonished  by  his  art  of  put¬ 
ting  things.  The  results  of  the  latest  German,  English,  and 
American  scholarship  on  the  more  important  and  difficult  topics 
concerning  the  relation  of  religion  and  science  were  the  things  he 
put,  and  precisely  those  concerning  which  they  most  desired  to 
hear.  Soon  the  audience  was  so  large  that  it  removed  to  Tremont 
Temple,  and  now,  during  the  ‘  ‘  Monday  Lecture  Course,  ”  “  the 
busiest  hour  of  the  busiest  day  of  the  week,  the  seats  and  stand¬ 
ing-room  of  that  immense  auditorium  are  fully  occupied.” 

But  what  has  this  man  of  royal  intellect  and  profound  learn¬ 
ing  set  himself  to  prove  ?  Meeting  the  skepticism  of  science  with 
its  own  “  scientific  method,”  he  proves  that  if  a  man  die  he  shall 
live  again  ;  that  God  was  in  Christ,  reconciling  the  world  unto 
Himself ;  “that  whosoever  believeth  in  him  shall  not  perish,  but 

9 

have  everlasting  life  ’  ’  ;  and  that  those  who  ultimately  persist  in 
sin  shall  be  shut  out  “from  the  presence  of  the  Lord,  and  from 
the  glory  of  his  power.” 

These  matchless  themes  Joseph  Cook  handles  with  a  logic 
unequaled  save  by  his  pathos,  and  a  wit  unmatched  save  by  his 
rhetoric.  But  he  does  not  stop  here.  Even  as  pure  mathematics 
35 


546 


Mrs.  Joseph  Cook. 


must  be  the  basis  of  mathematics  applied,  so  must  pure  Christian 
doctrine  be  the  basis  of  Christianity  applied,  and  that  application 
has  never  been  made  more  forcibly  than  in  the  famous  “  Prel¬ 
udes”  wherein  he  considers  practical  questions  of  philanthropy. 
How  we  ought  to  handle  the  Chinese,  the  Mormon,  the  Temper¬ 
ance,  the  Woman  and  the  Labor  questions,  has  never  been  more 
ably  shown  than  by  this  master  of  theologic  controversy. 

Mr.  Cook  was  born  at  Ticonderoga,  N.  Y.,  January  26, 
1838,  and  retains  so  much  affection  for  his  old  home  that  he  has 
established  his  summer  headquarters  there,  at  “  Cliff  Seat.” 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  man  who  has  accomplished  such 
mental  prodigies,  has  never  squandered  his  vital  forces  upon  alco¬ 
hol  or  tobacco.  Joseph  Cook  is  the  uncompromising  foe  of  these 
two  abominations.  His  genuineness  of  character,  sturdy  integrity, 
and  purity  of  life  set  the  seal  to  his  profession  of  Christianity. 
He  is  not  one  of  those  deadly  enemies  of  Christ’s  church  who 
preach  cream  and  practice  skim-milk. 

The  quality  of  his  education  is  shown  in  this  statement  from 
one  of  his  nearest  friends  : 

‘‘Mr.  Cook’s  favorite  teachers  and  authors  are  Professor 
Park,  Julius  Muller  and  Jonathan  Edwards,  in  theology  ;  and  in 
philosophy  Sir  William  Hamilton,  Rudolf  Hermann  Lotze,  Leib¬ 
nitz,  and  Kant.” 

Doubtless  it  is  no  small  factor  in  Joseph  Cook’s  solved  prob¬ 
lem  of  success  that  his  heart  is  not  a  stranger  to  the  ‘  ‘  supreme 
affection  ’  ’  of  which  he  so  eloquently  discoursed  in  his  lectures  on 
Marriage.  Mrs.  Joseph  Cook,  a  New  Plaven  lady  whom  he  first 
met  in  his  Yale  College  days,  has  shared  his  life  and  honors  since 
the  summer  of  1877.  She  is  his  counselor  as  well  as  his  com¬ 
panion,  and  constantly  aids  him  in  his  correspondence  and 
researches,  the  two  being  omnivorous  and  insatiable  students. 

But  any  record  that  fails  to  bring  out  his  earnest  advocacy  of 
the  temperance  reform,  by  word  as  well  as  by  example,  does 
Mr.  Cook  injustice.  A  note  from  one  cognizant  of  his  early  his¬ 
tory  reads  as  follows  : 

“  When  he  was  but  nineteen  years  old,  Joseph  Cook  gave  a 
course  of  six  lectures  011  temperance  in  his  native  town.  During 
the  progress  of  these  lectures  a  poor  woman,  living  in  the  village, 
died  from  the  effects  of  injuries  inflicted  by  her  drunken  husband. 


547 


The  American  Laureate, 

The  material  for  her  shroud  was  procured  at  the  same  store  where 
her  husband  obtained  the  liquor  that  “stole  away  his  brain.'’ 
Her  sad  death  made  a  profound  impression  on  the  community, 
and  when,  at  the  close  of  the  last  lecture,  Mr.  Cook  gave  a  pict¬ 
ure  of  what  rum  will  do,  and  produced  a  piece  of  the  identical 
shroud-cloth,  with  a  lock  of  the  woman’s  hair  pinned  to  it,  and 
suspended  it  from  the  desk,  the  audience  was  in  deep  excitement ; 
most  of  the  women  were  in  tears,  and  the  faces  of  the  men  were 
white  with  indignation.” 

Concerning  the  home-protection  movement  and  work,  Mr. 
Cook  has  spoken  plainly.  “Woman’s  vote  would  be  to  munic¬ 
ipal  politics  depending  on  saloons,  what  the  lightning  is  to  the 
oak.  Godsend  us  that  lightning.” 

JOHN  GREENEEAF  WHITTIER. 

Whittier  was  the  household  poet  of  our  abolition  family.  We 
knew  more  of  him  by  heart,  in  all  senses  of  that  phrase,  than 
of  any  other  singer,  living  or  dead.  As  a  teacher,  I  gave  his 
shorter  pieces  to  my  pupils,  even  as  mother  had  once  given  them 
to  me.  So  when,  in  1880,  I  was  speaking  all  about  in  Massa¬ 
chusetts,  and  Amesbury  was  on  my  list  of  towns,  I  asked  at  once 
of  my  hostess,  “  Is  he  at  home?  ”  “  I  do  not  know,”  she  said, 

‘  ‘  but  we  will  call  and  see.  ’  ’  He  was  absent,  but  his  genial 
friends  met  us  most  kindly,  and  showed  us  the  simple,  comfort¬ 
able  house  that  has  for  years  divided  with  Danvers,  a  few  miles 
distant,  the  honor  of  being  called  home  by  the  greatest  home 
poet  of  the  age.  The  desk  at  which  he  wrote  and  the  picture  of 
his  beloved  sister  so  exquisitely  described  in  “Snow  Bound,” — 
that  most  perfect  picture  of  the  old-fashioned  New  England  home¬ 
stead, — impressed  me  most  of  all.  That  afternoon  I  met  various 
ladies  of  the  village,  and  as  my  mission  at  this  time  was  to 
induce  them  to  use  the  school  ballot  in  the  interest  of  scientific 
temperance  instruction,  I  asked  if  this  were  their  intention,  and 
was  much  impressed  by  the  reply  that  came  to  me  repeatedly, 

‘  ‘  Oh,  yes  ;  we  women  vote  in  Amesbury — Mr.  Whittier  wishes  it.  ’  ’ 

This  unconscious  testimony  to  the  silent,  pervasive  power 
of  that  great  nature,  impressed  me  more  than  all  the  praise  of 
which  their  talk  was  full.  Toward  evening  the  poet  returned, 
and  was  so  graciously  considerate  as  to  send  for  me.  I  called  a 


54* 


Whittier  *s  Birthplace . 


few  minutes  on  my  way  to  tlie  hall  where  I  was  to  speak.  Noth¬ 
ing  could  be  more  modest,  mild  and  winsome  than  his  manner. 
He  spoke  of  our  home  protection  movement,  then  at  its  height 
in  Illinois,  where  the  women  had  voted  on  the  saloon  question 
in  Rockford,  Keithburg  and  elsewhere,  under  special  ordinances, 
and  always  solidly  against  license. 

I  said  I  was  surprised  that  he  had  heard  of  me,  whereupon 
he  replied  in  his  deep  low  voice  and  with  a  sun-bright  smile  in 
the  great,  Websterian  eyes,  “  But  thee  must  know  thee  is  becom¬ 
ing  a  figure  quite  conspicuous  yonder  on  thy  prairies  !  ” 

For  such  an  utterance  from  him  one  well  might  work  a 
life-time,  so  thought  I,  and  said,  “What  a  matchless  power  do 
those  possess  who  by  an  utterance  can  thus  gild  life  with  imper¬ 
ishable  halos  !  ” 

Not  long  after,  the  generous  poet  wrote  me  that  he  was 
giving  copies  of  “Nineteen  Beautiful  Years/’  my  sister’s  life,  to 
his  young  friends,  and  for  the  later  and  English  editions  he 
wrote  a  lovely  introduction.  There  is  just  one  thing  that  I  have 
desired  of  this  great  soul  and  failed  to  get — a  temperance  home 
protection  song  for  the  children  of  our  half  million  white  ribbon 
and  white  rose  prohibitionists.  He  says  he  is  too  old,  but  I  can 
not  bear  to  have  him  pass  away  from  us  until  these  fresh  up- 
springing  voices  shall  bear  across  the  continent  his  heavenly 
thoughts  of  a  pure  life. 

Whittier’s  birthplace,  the  old  log-house  near  Haverhill, 
Mass.,  immortalized  in  his  fireside  epic,  “Snow  Bound,”  is  more 
to  the  home  hearts  of  America  than  any  other  national  shrine.  I 
visited  this  place  long  years  ago,  and  have  long  hoped  it  might 
become  the  property  of  the  Whittier  Club  in  Haverhill.  But  a 
wealthy  citizen  of  that  town  who  owns  the  old  farm  declines  to 
sell,  but  declares  his  purpose  to  preserve  and  keep  it  open,  under 
proper  regulations,  to  the  public.  What  Ayr’s  world-famous 
cottage  is  to  Scotland,  Whittier’s  birthplace  will  become  to 
America  ;  for  to  paraphrase  his  own  words, 

“  Blow  high,  blow  low,  not  all  Time’s  snow 
Can  quench  that  hearth-fire’s  ruddy  glow.” 

In  1877  the  poet  Whittier’s  Boston  publishers  gave  him  a 
birthday  banquet  to  which  only  the  male  contributors  to  the 


Where  Were  the  Women  ? 


549 


Atlantic  Monthly  were  invited.  Apropos  of  this  I  sent  the  follow¬ 
ing  to  the  Bostoji  Advertiser : 

THE  ATLANTIC  WHITTIER  DINNER  —  A  WOMAN’S  THOUGHTS 

THEREOF. 

To  the  Editor  of  the  Boston  Daily  Advertiser : 

Some  of  us  feel  as  if  our  own  mothers  had  received  a  slight ;  a  few  of  us 
have  cried,  and  many  stormed,  but  I  alone  am  left  to  tell  thee.  In  the 
Republic  of  Letters,  if  nowhere  else,  woman  is  a  citizen.  Parnassus  seats 
gods  and  goddesses  on  the  same  throne  ;  the  Muses  are  feminine,  the  entire 
nine  of  them  !  Alongside  facts  like  these,  set  the  Brunswick  banqueting 
table,  with  a  guest  at  its  head  accustomed  to  see  women  honored  equally 
in  his  Quaker  home  and  church,  and  down  the  sides  of  the  groaning  board, 
among  the  “  contributors  to  the  Atlantic  ”  see  the  brilliant  women  of  that 
guild  conspicuous  only  for  their  absence  ! 

“  Astraea  at  the  capital,”  forsooth  !  Dear  Bara  of  Freedom,  what  did 
you  think  about  Astraea’s  absence  from  your  birthday  fete  ? 

“  Assuredly,”  we  thought,  glancing  along  the  columns  radiant  with  the 
wit  and  wisdom  of  the  feast,  “  there  will  be  letters  of  regret  showing  that  all 
the  leading  contributors  were  at  least  invited,”  but  the  hope  proved  vain. 
“Then,  most  assuredly,”  we  gasped,  “the  publishers  or  editors  will  give 
some  explanation  of  all  this,  some  recognition  of  services  so  splendid,  some 
brief  phrase,  at  least,  to  redeem  the  very  dome  of  American  brain  from  the 
charge  of  an  obliviousness  not  explainable  by  any  law  of  mind  yet  ascer¬ 
tained  ?”  But  no  !  from  generous  publishers  and  genial  editors  to  grotesque 
humorist,  all  combined  in  “expressive  silence.”  The  only  reference  to  the 
gentler  sex  that  anywdiere  creeps  in  is  this  :  “When  the  after-dinner  speak¬ 
ing  began,  the  women  who  were  staying  in  the  hotel  entered  and  were 
favored  with  seats.” 

Indeed  !  but  who  had  earned  a  seat  at  Whittier’s  own  right  hand  ?  Who 
but  Harriet  Beecher  StowTe,  one  of  the  chief  contributors  to  tli e  Atlantic? 
and  Harriet  Prescott  Spofford,  Rebecca  Harding  Davis,  Gail  Hamilton, 
Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps,  Mrs.  Whitney,  and  Louisa  M.  Alcott — were  they 
not  “to  the  manner  born”?  Among  the  sweet  singers,  ought  Rose  Terry 
and  Lucy  Larcom,  Celia  Thaxter,  Florence  Percy,  and  H.  H.,  to  have  been 
overlooked  ?  And  Mrs.  S.  M.  B.  Piatt,  why  should  she  not  have  had  an 
invitation,  and  sent  a  poem  as  well  as  John  ? 

Yet  this  is  Boston  that  sat  on  her  three  hills  and  ruled  the  world  !  And 
these  are  the  Bostonians — so  broad,  so  liberal  and  just ! 

And  Colonel  Higginson  was  there,  and  he  forgot  us,  too  !  Ah  me  !  this 
is  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all  ! 

Hopeless  as  seems  the  task,  we  must  still  seek  an  explanation  of  this 
uncomely  state  of  things,  ^as  it  because  “women  are  angels”  that  the 
contributors  belonging  to  that  celestial  class  were  not  invited  to  a  banquet 
(nor  mentioned  at  it)  in  honor  of  a  total  abstainer  before  whom  were  set  (in 


550 


The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table . 


delicate  compliment,  of  course)  eight  kinds  of  wine  ?  Was  it  because  of  Eve’s 
being  “first  in  transgression”  (as  tempter-in-chief  at  the  first  dinner),  her 
sons  determined  she  snould  never  more  sit  down  beside  them  at  the  con¬ 
vivial  board?  Or  was  it  that  the  prestige  of  sex  is  not  yet  offset  by  the 
chivalry  of  justice,  even  among  the  liberals  ? 

If  it  were  not  Boston  we  should  say,  “  I  wot  it  is  through  ignorance  ye 
did  it.”  But  as  it  is,  we  dismiss  the  subject  with  the  mild  reproof  in  sorrow 
not  in  anger,  “  My  brethren,  these  things  ought  not  so  to  be  !  ” 

A  Few  Among  Many. 

JParnassusville ,  Dec.  18,  1877. 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 

No  book  ever  fascinated  me  more  than  the  “  Autocrat  of  the 
Breakfast  Table”;  indeed,  everything  that  Dr.  Holmes  has  writ¬ 
ten,  I  have  eagerly  absorbed.  It  has  always  been  one  of  my 
chief  regrets,  when  in  Boston,  as  I  so  often  am,  that  I  had  no 
right  to  the  rare  privilege  of  seeing  him. 

One  day  in  1877,  on  a  crowded  Boston  street,  I  met  the 
famous  autocrat.  He  was  not  pointed  out  to  me,  but  I  knew  him 
from  his  photograph  and  from  a  certain  sixth  sense.  He  passed 
me  so  that  we  were  for  a  moment  face  to  face.  I  could  not  be 
mistaken  in  that  upright,  well-knit  figure,  alert  bearing,  and 
remarkable  face  with  its  keenness  of  perception  and  geniality  of 
heart.  I  wheeled  about  instinctively  and  followed,  for  some  dis¬ 
tance,  the  little  man  who  is  so  great,  hardly  knowing  that  I  did 
so.  This  is  the  only  time  I  ever  saw  him,  or,  probably,  ever 
shall. 

SARAH  K.  BOLTON. 

Mrs.  Sarah  Knowles  Bolton,  of  Cleveland,  Ohio,  was  Assist¬ 
ant  Corresponding  Secretary  of  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  in  1876. 
She  was  a  leader  in  our  work  in  Ohio,  and  that  she  made  a  most 
capable  officer  goes  without  saying.  Probably  no  woman  in 
America  has  a  style  more  telling  and  compact.  She  excels  in 
seizing  upon  the  salient  points  in  a  character,  and  her  word-pict¬ 
ures,  though  but  outline  sketches,  are  complete  revelations  of 
men,  manners,  and  times.  What  Samuel  Smiles  and  James 
Parton  are  as  biographers  of  men,  that  Mrs.  Bolton  is  as  the  chief 
woman  biographer  of  our  times,  and  popular  as  her  work  has 
been  from  the  beginning,  her  best  days  are  now,  and  in  the 
smiling  future  of  her  literary  history. 


The  Matchless  Orator. 


5$i 


JOHN  B.  GOUGH. 

Almost  the  only  temperance  lecture  that  I  ever  heard  in  my 
life,  previous  to  entering  the  field  myself,  was  by  John  B.  Gough. 
It  was  in  1863,  when  I  was  a  teacher  in  the  Pittsburgh  Female  Col¬ 
lege.  There  was  such  a  mob  of  good  people  waiting  for  the 
doors  of  the  great  hall  to  open,  that  when  at  last  they  did  so,  I 
was  carried  off  my  feet  and  borne  along  011  the  crest  of  this  wave 
of  humanity,  half  frightened  out  of  my  wits.  It  was  the  only 
time  that  I  ever  thoroughly  lost  my  equipoise,  save  when  I  was 
thrown  from  my  horse  in  Palestine,  my  donkey  in  Switzerland, 
and  my  tricycle  in  Evanston.  How  I  marveled  at  the  first  great 
orator  to  whom,  save  Bishop  Simpson,  I  had  ever  listened  at  that 
time.  Indeed,  he  then  impressed  me  as  an  actor  rather  than  an 
orator.  That  lithe  form  was  always  in  motion  up  and  down  the 
immense  platform  ;  that  sallow,  bearded  face,  framed  in  a  shock 
of  iron-gray  hair,  was  of  protean  aspect,  now  personating  the 
drunkard,  then  the  hypocrite,  anon  the  saint.  Those  restless, 
eager  hands,  supple  as  India-rubber,  were  always  busy,  flinging 
the  hair  forward  in  one  character,  back  in  another,  or  standing  it 
straight  up  in  a  third ;  crushing  the  drink  fiend,  pointing  to  the 
angel  in  human  nature,  or  doubling  up  the  long  coat-tails  in  the 
most  grotesque  climaxes  of  gesticulation  when,  with  a  “hop, 
skip,  and  jump,”  he  proceeded  to  bring  down  the  house.  Dickens 
says  of  one  of  his  humorous  characters  that  ‘  ‘  his  very  knees 
winked,”  but  there  was  a  variety  and  astonishment  of  expression 
in  every  movement  of  Mr.  Gough  that  literally  beggars  description. 
He  had  all  weapons  at  command  ;  but  argument,  pathos,  wit  and 
mimicry  were  the  four  elements  which,  entering  almost  equally 
into  every  speech  I  ever  heard  from  him,  made  Mr.  Gough  the 
most  completely  equipped  and  many-sided  orator  of  his  time. 
Others  have  equaled  him  in  any  one  of  these  gifts  of  persuasion  ; 
a  few,  possibly,  have  excelled  him  in  each,  but  none  approach 
his  rank  as  a  combination  of  all  the  elements  of  power  in  public 
speech.  More  than  any  one  else,  he  kept  his  audience  on  the 
qui  vive.  We  never  knew  what  to  expect  next,  his  antitheses 
were  so  startling,  his  transitions  as  an  actor  so  abrupt.  “  From 
grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to  severe,”  he  ranged,  “all  things  by 
turns  and  nothing  long.  ’  ’ 

His  voice  was  in  complete  harmony  with  the  make-up  I  have 


552 


Gospel  Temper cnice. 


described.  It  sounded  the  whole  diapason  of  human  joy  and  sor¬ 
row  ;  at  one  breath  it  thundered  and  the  next  was  soft  and  cooing 
as  a  dove  ;  now  it  was  rich  with  laughter,  then  deluged  with  tears; 
now  hot  with  hate,  then  balmy  with  tenderness  ;  now  vibrant  with 
command,  or  sibilant  with  scorn,  then  full  of  coaxing  and  caress. 
The  voice  was  the  man’s  completest  instrument  and  exponent ;  he 
was  its  perfect  master,  and  hence  with  it  could  master  all  who 
heard.  I  think  his  theme  that  night  was  “Eloquence  and  Ora¬ 
tors,”  anyhow,  it  was  not  temperance,  but  the  impression  I 
brought  away  was  that  I  had  been  under  an  enchanter’s  spell  and 
in  a  “temperance  meeting.”  I  remember  he  told  how,  years 
before,  he  had,  in  speaking,  brought  down  his  hand  with  so  much 
force  upon  a  marble-topped  table  as  to  break  a  finger  bone,  but 
was  so  intent  upon  his  subject  that  he  never  knew  it  until  the 
address  was  ended. 

How  little  I  dreamed  of  approaching  the  great  orator  that 
night.  The  distance  between  us  seemed  like  an  abyss  ;  and  so, 
while  others,  in  no  wise  entitled  to  do  so,  intruded  upon  him  in 
his  weariness,  I  went  home  through  the  mud  and  darkness,  a  loyal 
but  silent  worshiper  at  his  shrine,  saying  to  myself,  “  It  is  the 
sublimest  thing  in  all  the  world  to  lift  humanity  to  nobler  levels 
through  the  gift  of  speech,  but  to  women  the  world  does  not  per¬ 
mit  such  blessedness.”  How  little  did  I  dream  that  in  the  unfold¬ 
ing  of  God’s  great  fairy  story,  entitled  “Life,”  twenty  years 
should  not  elapse  before  that  chief  leader  of  the  world’s  greatest 
reform  would  say  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  with  its  two  hundred  women 
speakers  in  the  field,  “  Your  society  is  doing  more  to  advance  the 
cause  of  temperance  than  all  other  agencies  combined.” 

I  heard  him  but  four  times.  The  next  was  in  1877,  when, 
by  Mr.  Moody’s  invitation,  and  during  his  three  months’  meet¬ 
ing  in  Boston,  I  spoke  in  the  great  Tabernacle  on  the  same  day 
with  Messrs.  Gough,  John  Wanamaker,  and  Stephen  H.  Tyng. 
Then,  for  the  first  time,  I  met  him  personally,  and  found  the 
modest,  self-distrustful,  brotherly  man,  who  professed  to  be  in 
doubt  about  his  speech,  and  seemed  as  appreciative  as  a  boy  when 
told  how  splendidly  he  had  succeeded.  He  was  the  same  magi¬ 
cian  as  of  old,  but  I  could  feel  the  change  that  had  come  over 
the  drunkards’  outlook  under  the  influence  of  “  Gospel  Temper- 
perance,”  for  the  wonderful  personation  of  delirium  tremens 


A  Generous  Giver. 


553 


brought  an  expression  full  of  pain  to  Mr.  Moody’s  face,  and  he 
did  not  smile  when  the  antics  of  the  half-tipsy  man  were  imi¬ 
tated.  There  is  a  compassion  felt  for  the  wives  and  families  of 
the  inebriate,  now  that  we  know  so  much  more  about  them,  which 
shrinks  in  sympathetic  pain  from  such  delineations,  and  the  only 
criticism  I  ever  heard  on  Mr.  Gough’s  lectures  was  at  this  point, 
nor  was  that  made  until  the  Crusade  period. 

The  next  time  I  met  him  was  in  Chicago  when  he  lectured 
for  the  Central  W.  C.  T.  U.,  and  by  Mrs.  Carse’s  request  I  intro¬ 
duced  him  to  nine  thousand  people  in  Moody’s  Tabernacle. 
Though  suffering  from  a  severe  throat  trouble,  and  distressed  by 
the  fear  that  he  could  not  be  heard,  he  was  his  old  self,  and  fully 
measured  up  to  the  height  of  his  great  reputation.  When  he  had 
finished  and  was  dropping  into  a  seat,  exhausted  to  a  pitiful 
degree,  an  “autograph  fiend  ”  pounced  upon  him,  and  he  scrawled 
his  name,  his  hand  being  so  bathed  in  perspiration  that  the  whole 
page  was  defaced.  The  marvel  is  that  he  lived  so  long,  he  who 
gave  himself  so  completely  to  his  work  that  at  the  close  of  every 
lecture  his  clothes  were  literally  wringing  wet,  and  hours  of  atten¬ 
tion  were  necessary  so  to  soothe  and  recuperate  him  with  food 
and  baths  that,  long  after  midnight,  he  could  sleep.  For  this  pur¬ 
pose  some  friend  always  went  with  him,  usually  his  wife,  that 
strong,  brave,  faithful  “Mary,’’  in  whose  praise  he  could  never 
say  enough.  On  the  evening  of  this  tremendous  effort  in  the 
great  Chicago  Tabernacle,  she  sat  upon  the  platform,  a  little  in 
the  background,  knitting,  with  a  proud  and  happy  smile  upon  her 
face.  We  paid  Mr.  Gough  five  hundred  dollars  for  that  lecture, 
but  made  seven  hundred  dollars  clear  of  all  expenses.  Many  have 
criticised  Mr.  Gough  for  accepting  such  large  sums,  but  he  earned 
them  if  ever  mortal  did,  and  he  was  one  of  the  most  generous 
men  that  ever  lived.  His  gifts  were  private  and  most  unostenta¬ 
tious,  but  the  young  men  and  women  he  sent  to  school  and  col¬ 
lege,  the  friends  he  helped,  the  families  he  supported,  would  make 
up  a  list  of  princely  benefactions.  Money  passing  into  his  hands 
was  always  transmuted  into  blessing. 

On  the  day  after  the  lecture  I  went  about  noon  to  see  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Gough  at  the  Sherman  House.  Mrs.  Gough  was  ill  in 
bed  with  a  throat  difficulty.  It  was  delightful  to  witness  the  ten¬ 
der  thoughtfulness  toward  his  wife  of  this  man  who  had  been 


554 


11  Pll  Make  Motions' 


so  praised  and  loved  by  the  people  of  two  continents  that  if  he 
had  not  possessed  a  really  great  nature  he  would  surely  have 
been  spoiled.  In  all  his  practical  affairs  she  was  evidently  his 
guide,  as  well  as  his  philosopher  and  friend  in  their  home  life.  I 
have  never  met  a  woman  less  injured  by  prosperity  than  Mrs. 
Gough,  or  possessing  a  more  affluent  endowment  of  good  com¬ 
mon  sense. 

The  next  time  I  met  our  orator  was  at  the  Saratoga  Temper¬ 
ance  Convention  of  1880,  where  I  had  the  high  honor  to  stand 
once  more  on  the  same  platform,  Mr.  Gough  and  Rev.  Dr.  J.  O. 
Peck  being  the  other  speakers.  How  little  did  I  think  then,  as 
the  Wizard  of  Worcester  wrought  his  spell  afresh  upon  an  audi¬ 
ence,  that  I  should  see  the  wondrous  sight  no  more  !  I  remem¬ 
ber  with  what  inimitable  force  he  said,  “  While  I  can  talk  against 
the  drink  I’ll  talk,  and  when  I  can  only  whisper,  I’ll  do  that, 
and  when  I  can’t  whisper  any  longer,  faith,  Pll  make  motions — 
they  say  I’m  good  at  that!”  How  prophetic  were  the  words. 
He  talked  right  on  against  the  drink  evil  until  he  lacked  but 
six  months  of  being  seventy  years  of  age,  speaking  nearly  nine 
thousand  times,  to  at  least  nine  millions  of  people,  and  traveling 
four  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  miles  to  reach  them.  His  last 
words  were  to  the  public  in  the  great  audience,  and  his  last 
motion  was  to  raise  his  hands  to  heaven  for  temperance,  throw 
back  his  head,  and  pass  beyond  our  human  ken  forever. 

Twice  I  have  visited  the  home  of  John  B.  Gough,  on  a  quiet 
farm,  six  miles  from  Worcester,  Mass.  Once  I  went  in  his 
absence,  with  my  cousin,  Rev.  Dr.  A.  Hastings  Ross,  of  the  Con¬ 
gregational  Church,  then  his  pastor  at  West  Boylston,  a  couple  of 
miles  from  his  residence.  Probably  his  location  at  Hillside,  in  a 
place  so  secluded,  was  for  a  twofold  reason  :  his  wife’s  old  home 
wras  near  here,  and  only  by  living  in  the  country  could  a  man  so 
celebrated  enjoy  the  seclusion  and  secure  the  quiet  for  wTork  and 
recuperation  that  were  essential  to  his  health  and  usefulness. 
One  of  the  penalties  paid  by  all  who  have  that  “  large  follow¬ 
ing  ”  which  is  essential  to  a  reformer’s  success,  is  loss  of  invalu¬ 
able  time  through  constant  interruption,  and  failure  to  rest 
adequately  because  of  the  local  interests  of  the  movement  with 
which  they  are  connected.  Probably  Mr.  Gough  solved  this 
problem  in  the  only  way  possible  to  a  nature  so  genial ;  he  liter- 


‘  *  Brother  Jonathan  ’  ’  Unmoved. 


555 


ally  ‘  ‘  tore  himself  away  ” ;  he  followed  the  highest  possible  ex* 
ample  and  injunction,  “  Come  ye  apart  into  a  desert  (ed)  place, 
and  rest  awhile.” 

His  home  was  the  shrine  of  natural  beauty,  good  sense  and 
good  taste.  A  quiet  farm-house,  it  was  sheltering,  ample,  and 
the  very  incarnation  of  comfort.  Rare  pictures  and  engravings, 
books,  souvenirs,  and  testimonials  were  in  every  room. 

The  last  time  that  I  saw  him  was  in  1883,  when,  by  invita¬ 
tion  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gough,  Anna  Gordon  and  I  spent  a  day 
and  night  at  Hillside  where  his  wife  and  his  accomplished  nieces 
graciously  ministered  to  our  comfort,  and  we  had  a  memorably 
delightful  time. 

He  was,  as  usual,  full  of  anecdote  and  personation.  He 
showed  us  with  pride  an  elegant  and  complete  set  of  Spurgeon’s 
works,  recently  sent  him  with  a  beautiful  letter  from  that  great 
preacher,  and  told  how  on  hearing  that  Mrs.  Spurgeon,  v7ho  has 
been  an  invalid,  confined  to  her  house  for  years,  was  lamenting 
that  she  “  never  should  hear  Gough,”  he  said  to  Mr.  Spurgeon, 
“  She  shall  hear  me  if  she  wants  to,”  and  he  actually  went  to  her 
sick-room,  stood  up  before  her,  and  for  one  hour  exhausted  all  the 
resources  of  his  genius  and  experience  to  impress  that  saintly 
woman  with  the  merits  of  the  temperance  reform  !  This  incident 
reveals  a  volume  relative  to  the  simple,  kindly  nature  of  this  man 
with  a  child’s  heart. 

He  told  us,  playfully,  that,  being  received  by  processions, 
bands  of  music,  etc.,  when  he  landed  at  Liverpool,  and  having 
had  such  a  wonderful  experience  in  England,  speaking  one  hun¬ 
dred  nights  in  succession  to  packed  audiences  in  Exeter  Hall, 
and  having  reached  people  of  all  grades,  from  the  nobility  down, 
as  no  American  had  ever  done  (he  did  not  say  all  this,  but  I  knew 
it),  he  was  a  little  nervous  011  approaching  New  York  Harbor,  as 
his  return  had  been  cabled  and  he  did  not  know  what  demonstra¬ 
tion  might  be  made.  But  behold,  “Brother  Jonathan  held  on 
the  even  tenor  of  his  way  ;  there  was  none  so  poor  to  do  the 
returning  hero  reverence  ;  and  greatly  relieved  he  took  a  hack 
and  drove  to  a  hotel,  newly  enlightened  as  to  American  charac¬ 
teristics  and  more  profoundly  impressed  than  ever  that  ‘  ‘  this  is  a 
great  country.” 

At  this  visit  Mr.  Gough  urged  me  to  go  to  England  for  a 


55^ 


But  One  Thing  To  Do. 


year,  and  proffered  his  influence  to  introduce  me  under  the  most 
favorable  auspices,  giving  me  a  survey  of  the  situation,  and  de¬ 
claring  that  the  outlook  for  woman’s  work  in  England  was  un¬ 
equaled,  and  the  temperance  reform  certain  to  win.  He  spoke  with 
especial  affection  of  Robert  Rae,  the  accomplished  secretary  of  the 
British  Temperance  League,  who  had  been  so  helpful  to  him  in 
all  his  work  for  the  mother  country.  Subsequently  he  wrote  me 
repeatedly  on  this  subject,  and  but  for  my  unwillingness,  at  her 
advanced  age,  to  put  the  sea  between  my  mother  and  myself,  I 
would  have  gone. 

It  was  a  privilege,  indeed,  to  kneel  with  Mr.  Gough  and  his 
family  at  their  fireside  altar  and  join  in  the  simple,  fervent  prayer 
he  offered  for  God’s  guidance.  The  last  communication  I  had 
from  him  was  a  note  accompanying  a  beautiful  solitaire  tea-set 
for  dear  mother’s  eightieth  birthday.  He  was  a  guest  in  Maty 
B.  Willard’s  home  in  1884,  having  lectured  in  our  W.  C.  T.  U. 
course  at  Evanston,  while  I  was  absent.  It  was  just  after  the 
great  election,  and  quite  a  sensation  was  produced  when  Mr. 
Gough  spoke  in  this  wise  : 

“  I  had  to  face  a  difficult  question,  recently.  Forty  years  a 
temperance  worker  and  advocate  of  prohibition,  the  temperance 
people’s  prayer  denied  and  no  recognition  of  this  principle  in  any 
national  platform  but  one,  what  was  my  duty  as  a  Christian  and 
a  patriot  ?  I  considered  the  matter  seriously  and  talked  it  over 
with  my  wife.  ‘  John,  there  is  but  one  thing  you  can  do,’  she 
said,  and  I  thought  just  the  same,  so  I  voted  for  St.  John  and 
Daniels.  ’  ’ 

He  has  left  us  a  clear  testimony  that,  in  all  the  changing, 
evolving  phases  of  the  great  movement  which  he  did  more  to 
advance  than  any  other  man  of  his  time,  he  kept  step  to  the 
music  and  fought  upon  the  picket  line  of  progress.  No  words 
ever  spoken  to  the  young  men  of  America  have  greater  signifi¬ 
cance  than  the  last  uttered  by  this  man  whose  pitiful  past  haunted 
him  like  a  perpetual  nightmare;  words  that  seemed  to  come  to 
them  out  of  eternity,  because  with  his  last  conscious  breath, 
“  Young  men  keep  your  records  clean T 

Good  friend,  great  heart,  gallant  leader,  hail  and  farewell ; 
we  shall  not  look  upon  thy  like  again. 


A  Word  Photograph. 


557 


PUNDITA  RAMABAI. 

I  am  bound  to  say  that  this  gentle  Hindu  woman  showed 
extreme  reluctance  to  being  ‘  ‘  written  up,  ’  ’  permitting  it  only  at 
my  earnest  solicitation,  and  adding  at  last,  “  Do  as  you  will  with 
me,  only  help  my  college  for  women  all  you  can.” 

vSo  here  she  stands  before  us — a  young  woman  of  medium 
height  and  ninety-eight  pounds  weight ;  not  thin,  but  small¬ 
boned,  muscular,  lithe,  straight  as  an  arrow,  with  action  quick  and 
graceful.  Her  simple  dress  of  gray  silk,  guiltless  of  occidental 
humps  and  trains  and  furbelows,  and  her  native  “chuddar” — 
the  white  wrap  of  the  East — attest  her  freedom  from  the  bondage 
of  mantua-maker  and  milliner.  The  spirited  pose  of  her  head, 
when  the  chuddar  is  removed,  gives  fullest  revelation  of  her  char¬ 
acter.  The  close-cut,  blue-black  hair  clearly  shows  those  noble 
outlines  where  perception,  conscience,  benevolence,  and  indomit¬ 
able  purpose  hold  their  lofty  thrones.  She  has  dark  gray  eyes  full 
of  light,  a  straight  nose  with  a  tiny  tattoo  between  the  eyebrows, 
high  cheek  bones,  mobile  lips,  and  perfect  white  teeth.  She  can 
trace  her  Brahmin  ancestry  a  thousand  years  ;  they  were  all  strict 
vegetarians  and  never  tasted  wine,  nor  does  she  know  the  alco¬ 
holic  flavor  (except  through  the  communion),  although  “for 
others’  sake  ”  she  signed  the  pledge.  She  has  broken  her  caste 
in  many  minor  ways,  such  as  eating  with  Christians,  but  the 
Pundita  can  not  abide  the  taste  of  animal  flesh — or  anything 
“cooked  in  grease,”  and  marvels  much  how  persons  of  refine¬ 
ment  can  tolerate  it  in  their  houses.  Her  food  is  of  cereals, 
vegetables,  and  fruit.  But  so  unobtrusive  is  she,  in  all  these 
peculiarities  so  beautiful,  to  my  thinking,  at  least,  and  in  the 
habitude  of  immaculate  cleanliness,  that  except  as  she  is  closely 
questioned,  one  would  hardly  note  her  mode  of  life  as  peculiar. 

She  is  delightful  to  have  about ;  content  if  she  has  books, 
pen  and  ink,  and  peace.  She  seems  a  sort  of  human-like  gazelle  ; 
incarnate  gentleness,  combined  with  such  celerity  of  apprehen¬ 
sion,  such  swiftness  of  mental  pace,  adroitness  of  logic,  and 
equipoise  of  intention  as  make  her  a  delightful  mental  problem. 
She  is  impervious  to  praise,  and  can  be  captured  only  by  affec¬ 
tion,  to  which,  when  genuine  and  delicate,  her  response  is  like 
that  of  the  rock  to  Moses’  rod.  She  is  full  of  archness  and 
repartee,  handling  our  English  tongue  with  a  precision  attained 


A  Liberal-minded  Priest. 


558 

by  few  of  us  who  are  to  the  manner  born.  But  I  must  repeat 
that  her  gentleness  exceeds  any  other  manifestation  of  that  ex¬ 
quisite  quality  that  I  have  yet  seen.  This  seems  to  be  her  motto : 
“Has  any  wronged  thee?  Be  bravely  avenged:  slight  it,  and 
the  work’s  begun  ;  forgive  it,  and  ’ tis  finished.” 

When  we  recited  verses  at  family  prayers,  she  could  not,  on 
the  instant,  think  of  one,  and  my  mother  told  her  to  repeat  some 
Sanskrit  precept,  which  she  did,  with  a  quick  translation,  saying, 
“  Madam,  you  have  a  broad  and  generous  spirit.  ”  She  knew  her 
poets  were  usually  spoken  of  as  “  heathen,”  and  not  to  be  for  one 
moment  tolerated  at  a  Christian  fireside.  When  she  spoke  in  our 
Sunday  gospel  meeting  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  at  Evanston,  I  asked 
her  what  hymn  she  preferred,  and  in  her  clear,  earnest  voice  she 
instantly  replied, 

“  I  heard  the  voice  of  Jesus  say, 

Come  uuto  me  and  rest.” 

The  Pundita  is  a  woman-lover,  not  as  the  antithesis  of  a 
man-hater,  for  she  is  too  great-natured  not  to  love  all  humanity 
with  equal  mother-heartedness,  but  because  women  need  special 
help,  her  zeal  for  them  is  like  a  quenchless  fire. 

My  mother  wrote  thus  of  her  in  her  “  Diary 

‘‘The  Pundita  Ramabai  is  a  marvelous  creation.  She  has  a  surprisingly 
comprehensive  intellect  and  is  as  open  to  receive  truth  as  the  daisy  to  the 
sun.  With  face  uplifted  she  marches  straight  into  its  effulgence,  caring  for 
nothing  so  she  find  the  eternal  truth  of  the  eternal  God — not  anxious  what 
that  truth  may  be.  ’  ’ 

* 

Ramabai  is  the  daughter  of  a  Marathi  priest.  In  his  youth 
he  saw  his  preceptor  teaching  Sanskrit  to  a  royal  princess  and 
resolved  that  he  would  thus  teach  his  own  wife.  But  their  kin¬ 
dred  on  both  sides  looked  upon  this  as  hardly  less  than  insanity. 
They  doubtless  said,  as  did  a  Hindu  who  was  criticising  the  mis¬ 
sionaries,  “Having  determined  to  teach  the  women,  we  shall 
next  find  you  going  with  your  primer  to  the'  cows.”  There  was 
no  peace  in  the  house  and  our  liberal-minded  Marathi  priest  gave 
up  the  unequal  contest.  But  a  few  years  after,  his  wife  died,  and 
on  one  of  his  pilgrimages  he  met  at  a  sacred  river,  a  learned 
Brahmin  whose  lovely  little  girl  he  married  and  being  three  times 
her  age,  he  found  it  more  easy  to  do  as  he  would  about  her  edu¬ 
cation.  She  was  very  bright,  and  glad  to  learn,  but  after  awhile 


An  Earnest  Advocate . 


559 


his  strange  course  excited  so  much  comment  that  he  resolved  to 
retire  from  the  world  and  carry  out  his  ideas  without  further 
molestation.  He  accordingly  sought  a  home  in  the  forest  of 
Gangamul  on  the  Western  Ghats  in  Hindustan,  and  here  on  the 
23d  of  April,  1858,  Ramabai  was  born.  She  lived  in  entire 
seclusion,  and  the  consequent  enjoyment  of  outdoor  air  and  exer¬ 
cise  ;  she  was  taught  by  the  mighty  ministries  of  Mother  Nature, 
who  has  stamped  her  sanctities  on  this  impressionable  soul.  Her 
earliest  recollections  are  of  the  birds  singing  in  the  morning  twi¬ 
light,  at  which  time  her  mother  (busy  during  the  day  with  house¬ 
hold  cares,  as  she  had  several  other  children  and  step-children) 
was  wont  to  take  little  Ramabai  in  her  arms  to  teach  her  the 
Sanskrit  language.  In  this  way  and  as  they  walked,  later  on, 
thousands  of  miles  on  pilgrimages  to  sacred  shrines,  Ramabai 
learned  twenty  thousand  verses  from  the  poets  and  sayings  of 
the  philosophers. 

Before  she  was  sixteen  this  gifted  girl  was  left  an  orphan; 
she  traveled  several  years  with  her  brother,  a  noble  young  man 
who  sympathized  with  her  in  the  determination  she  had  made 
to  devote  herself  to  the  elevation  of  her  countrywomen.  The 
genius,  learning,  and  devotion  that  she  evinced,  gained  for  her  a 
wide  celebrity.  She  was  never  a  member  of  the  Brahmo  Somaj, 
but  perceiving  its  theism  to  be  higher  and  better  than  her  Hin¬ 
duism,  she  became  a  convert  to  its  ideas  and  broke  her  caste,  for 
which  she  received  the  anathemas  of  her  people.  But  she  had 
one  of  the  bravest  souls  ever  enshrined  in  clay,  and  so  went  on 
her  widening  way,  unperturbed  by  the  criticisms  of  her  people. 
She  lost  her  brother,  and  was  once  more  sorrowful,  but  kept 
steadily  to  her  work  of  traveling,  lecturing,  and  writing  in  the 
interest  of  Hindu  women.  The  English  admired  and  trusted 
her.  Before  their  high  commissions  her  word  was  taken  as 
authority  concerning  the  needs  of  those  for  whom  she  labored 
with  unselfish  devotion.  She  urged  that  native  women  should 
be  trained  as  physicians  and  taught  to  teach.  Measures  were 
introduced  having  these  ends  in  view,  and  as  a  sequel  to  the 
society  formed  by  her  among  leading  Brahmin  ladies  of  Poonah, 
that  city  now  has  not  only  primary  schools  for  girls,  but  high 
schools ;  while  Bombay  has  several  high  schools,  and  Calcutta 
the  “Victoria”  school,  conducting  to  the  university. 


560 


Professor  of  Sanskrit 


In  the  latter  city,  learned  pundits  (professors  in  the  univer¬ 
sity)  proceeded  carefully  to  examine  into  her  acquirements,  and 
as  a  result,  conferred  upon  her  the  degree  of  Sarasvati — equiva¬ 
lent  to  “the  Hindu  Minerva.”  This  made  a  stir  throughout 
the  empire,  as  no  woman  had  ever  received  such  a  degree  up  to 
that  time.  Soon  after,  Ramabai  married  a  Bengalese  gentleman, 
a  lawyer,  whom  she  freely  chose,  this  being  an  instance  almost 
without  precedent.  He  did  not  belong  to  her  caste  and  she  suf¬ 
fered  much  criticism  on  this  account.  She  taught  him  Sanskrit 
and  he  gave  her  English  lessons.  She  called  him  by  his  first 
name  which  was  a  dreadful  thing  in  the  opinion  of  the  women 
round  about.  (They  lived  in  Cachar,  Assam.)  She  did  not 
especially  wait  upon  him,  but  took  her  meals  at  the  same  time, 
which  was  another  mortal  sin.  She  had  already  determined  to 
go  to  England  and  study  medicine,  and  he  agreed  to  help  her  all 
he  could.  But  he  died  suddenly  of  cholera,  when  they  had  been 
but  two  years  married,  leaving  her  a  widow  with  an  eight  months’ 
baby  when  she  was  only  twenty-four  years  old.  But,  though  her 
protection  and  support  were  thus  suddenty  cut  off,  Ramabai  did 
not  despair.  She  sold  their  little  home,  paid  off  the  debts,  wrote 
a  book  which  brought  her  money  enough  for  the  journey,  and 
sixteen  months  after  her  husband’s  death  set  off  across  the  un¬ 
known  seas  for  England.  This  was  in  1883.  She  found  that  a 
slight  deafness,  the  result  of  scarlet  fever,  would  prevent  her  from 
studying  medicine.  Professor  Max  Muller  and  other  learned  men 
took  up  her  cause.  She  was  made  Professor  of  Sanskrit  in  Chel¬ 
tenham  College,  where  she  remained  until  1886,  when  Dr.  Joshee, 
who  was  her  cousin,  a  lady  of  high  caste,  was  to  graduate  from 
the  Woman’s  Medical  College,  of  Philadelphia,  and  the  Pundita 
came  over  to  see  her  and  to  study  our  educational  methods.  The 
death  of  Dr.  Joshee  soon  after  she  returned  to  India,  was  a  heavy 
blow  to  Pundita  and  to  the  women’s  cause  in  Hindustan. 

Ramabai  has  thoroughly  studied  the  kindergarten  system  ; 
has  lectured  in  our  principal  cities,  and  has  written  a  remarkable 
book  entitled  “  The  High  Caste  Hindu  Woman,”  in  the  eighteen 
months  of  her  stay  in  America.  Dr.  Rachel  Bodley,*  Dean  of  the 
Woman’s  Medical  College,  Philadelphia,  in  an  introduction  to 
this  book,  which  can  not  fail  to  enlist  every  reader,  says  that  she 


♦Now  deceased. 


Pundita  Ramabai. 


56i 

never  read  one  more  remarkable.  It  tells  of  women  whose  only 
and  unpardonable  crime  is  having  been  born  at  all,  and  who  are 
all  their  lives  accursed  in  the  eyes  of  their  kinsfolk  because  death 
took  away  the  boys  to  whom  they  were  betrothed  in  infancy,  and 
they  are  held  to  be  the  ones  who  caused  this  loss  and  grief  in 
their  prospective  husbands’  homes.  It  tells  with  tender  pathos  of 
their  bondage  from  which  suicide  and  shame  are  the  only  sources 
of  deliverance  and  it  tells  in  burning  words  of  Pundita  Ramabai’ s 
undying  purpose  to  work  out  their  deliverance  by  means  of  a 
Christian  education.  For  the  great  question  is  now  and  has  al¬ 
ways  been  :  ‘  ‘  Ought  women  to  learn  the  alphabet  ?  ’  ’  After 

that  all  else  is  easy  and  no  man  may  fix  the  limit  of  their 
“sphere.” 

Pundita  Ramabai  became  an  avowed  Christian  while  in 
England,  was  baptized,  and  declared  her  acceptance  of  the  Apos¬ 
tle’s  Creed,  and  her  belief  in  Christ  as  the  Master  and  Redeemer. 
But  her  acute  mind  finds  it  difficult  to  choose  among  the  sects, 
so  she  announces  herself  as  being  in  harmony  with  all,  and  has 
joined  none.  But  every  Christian  grace  blooms  in  her  life,  com¬ 
munion  with  God  seems  her  most  natural  habit,  and  love  to  Him 
and  all  that  He  has  made,  her  atmosphere.  She  wishes  to  found 
in  India  a  school  for  high-caste  Hindu  widows,  and  asks  good 
people  of  every  name  to  help  her.  But  she  is  not  under  any 
‘  ‘  auspices  ” ;  no  denominational  missionary  board  can  consist¬ 
ently  take  up  her  enterprise,  nor  does  she  wish  it.  Were  she 
more  worldly-wise,  she  would  avoid  this  hindrance  by  attaching 
herself  to  one  of  them  and  accepting  their  counsel  and  their 
money  together. 

But,  earnest  Christian  though  she  is,  the  Pundita  is  a  woman 
of  “  views  ”  and  will  defend  them  to  the  last.  She  believes  there 
is  room  for  this  new  agency  ;  and  that  through  the  plans  formu¬ 
lated  by  a  Christian  Hindu  widow  who  knows  the  inner  workings 
of  that  class,  its  members  may  best  be  reached. 

I  can  not  help  cherishing  the  earnest  hope  that,  under  Pundita 
Ramabai’ s  Christian  sway,  women  never  yet  reached  by  the  usual 
missionary  appliances  of  the  church  may  be  loosed  from  the  prison 
house  of  ignorance,  lifted  out  of  the  habitations  of  cruelty,  and 
led  from  their  darkness  into  the  marvelous  light  of  that  gospel 
that  elevates  women,  and  with  her  lifts  the  world  toward  heaven. 


562 


Almira  Lincoln  Phelps. 


DISTINGUISHED  SOUTHERNERS — CHIEFEY  ElTERARY  MEN  AND 

WOMEN. 

“We  know  your  authors,  but  you  don’t  know  ours,”  was  a 
frequent  observation  of  my  Southern  entertainers,  and,  as  I  eagerly 
noted  every  allusion  to  the  household  favorites  whose  genius  was 
indigenous  to  their  own  soil,  the  exclamation  was  not  infrequent, 
“Tell  your  friends  about  our  writers,  when  you  go  home.” 
Hence  these  brief  notes,  gathered  up  by  the  way. 

Almira  Lincoln  Phelps,  the  sister  of  Emma  Willard,  though 
not  a  native,  was  an  acclimated  Southerner.  The  Patapsco  Insti¬ 
tute,  near  Baltimore,  was  most  successful  under  her  management ; 
and,  when  I  saw  her  in  1881,  .she  took  a  hearty  interest  in  the 
later  phases  of  that  irrepressible  “Woman  Question  ”  with  whose 
evolution  she  and  her  famous  sister  had  as  much  to  do  as  its 
more  pronounced  advocates.  In  her  stately  home,  on  Eutaw 
Place,  Baltimore,  I  visited  the  genial  and  accomplished  octoge¬ 
narian  (since  deceased),  who  manifested  lively  pleasure  in  the 
declaration  that  her  “Botany”  was  one  of  my  most  cherished 
companions  on  a  Wisconsin  farm ;  but  shook  her  long  finger 
ominously  at  me  as  she  expressed  her  dissent  from  my  “views  ” 
of  woman’s  relations  to  the  manufacture  of  public  sentiment  and 
its  crystallization  into  beneficent  law.  She  smiled,  however,  at 
the  soft  impeachment  that  our  present  work  in  manifold  forms 
of  intellectual  and  philanthropic  endeavor  is  but  the  logical 
sequence  of  the  higher  education,  and  when  she  gave  me  a  nice 
picture  of  herself  in  the  gracious  days  of  her  prime,  I  felt  assured 
her  opposition  was  not  fundamental.  In  this  opinion  she  con¬ 
firmed  me  by  calling  attention  to  a  large  swinging  book-case, 
within  reach  from  her  easy-chair,  and  crowded  with  the  best 
results  of  modern,  as  well  as  ancient  thought — the  Bible  having 
evidently  the  first  place  in  her  study  and  affection.  Mrs.  Phelps 
shared  her  home  with  her  son,  Gen.  Charles  E.  Phelps,  the 
gifted  orator  who  was  chosen  to  give  the  memorial  address  at 
Baltimore’s  magnificent  sesqui-centennial  in  September,  1880. 

At  Johns-Hopkins  University  I  had  the  rare  pleasure  of  hear¬ 
ing  Sidney  Lanier,  who  almost  up  to  the  time  of  his  death  was 
lecturer  on  literature  in  that  marvelous  institution,  which  has 
risen  at  one  bound  to  the  very  first  rank,  by  reason  of  its  wealth 


Sidney  Lanier. 


5<53 

and  the  statesman-like  qualities  of  its  president  and  board  of 
trustees,  who,  taking  as  their  motto  from  the  beginning,  “Get  the 
Best,  ’  ’  have  attracted  a  coterie  of  rarely  gifted  and  accomplished 
professors,  and  by  their  post-graduate  studies  a  quality  of  students 
altogether  superior  to  the  average  of  American  colleges.  In¬ 
deed,  “the  liberal  education’ ’  in  Max  Muller’s  sense,  which 
leaves  the  student  at  liberty  to  give  large  scope  to  elective  affin¬ 
ities  in  scholarship,  and  to  become  at  once  a  man  of  culture  and  a 
specialist,  has  wide  illustration  here.  My  only  regret  was  that 
the  genial  Quaker  wffiose  name  the  institution  bears  did  not  pay 
sufficient  respect  to  his  schooling  in  the  grand  Society  of  Friends 
(whose  object-lesson  in  equality  of  right  between  the  sexes  is  its 
chief  glory)  to  ordain  co-education  as  its  crowning  feature.  It  is 
humiliating  to  know  that  Carey  Thomas,  a  young  Quakeress,  the 
daughter  of  Dr.  James  Carey  Thomas,  a  leading  trustee,  was 
refused  admission  and  pursued  in  the  University  of  Leipsic, 
Germany,  the  post-graduate  studies  denied  at  her  own  door. 
To-day  she  is  the  best  educated  woman  in  America  and  Dean 
of  Bryn  Mawr  College.  But  there  is  a  strong  co-education  sen¬ 
timent  among  the  powers  that  be,  and  its  realization  is  but  a 
question  of  time  that  shall  prove  brief.  What  Sidney  Lanier 
thought  on  this  weighty  subject  I  did  not  learn  ;  but,  surely,  the 
preponderance  of  ladies,  grave  and  gay,  at  his  superb  lectures 
must  have  given  him  food  for  a  generalization  thereupon.  Taine 
made  the  study  of  environment  enter  largely  into  his  philosophy 
of  literature,  but  Lanier’s  root  principle  is  the  development  of 
personality.  This  he  traces  from  its  embryo,  among  the  Greeks, 
wherein  the  state  is  everything  and  the  individual  nothing,  to  its 
consummate  blossom  in  Shakspeare  and  George  Eliot.  It  was 
refreshing  to  listen  to  a  professor  of  literature  who  was  something 
more  than  a  raconteur  and  something  different  from  a  bibliophile, 
who  had,  indeed,  risen  to  the  level  of  generalization  and  employed 
the  method  of  a  philosopher.  Georgia  is  proud  of  Sidney  Lanier, 
whose  birthplace  and  early  home  was  Griffin,  and  whose  services 
in  the  Confederate  army  are  added  to  his  fame  as  a  poet.  He  will 
be  remembered  as  author  of  the  “  Centennial  Ode  ”  of  that  Cen¬ 
tennial  year  wherein  the  arts  of  peace  did  more  than  has  been 
generally  understood  to  bind  the  broken  sections  in  new  bonds  of 
amity  and  emulation.  He  also  wrote  a  charming  novel  of  South- 


Paul  Hamilton  Hayne. 


564 

ern  life,  entitled  “Tiger  Lilies,”  published  in  1867.  Several  of 
liis  best  productions  have  appeared  in  Scribners  Magazine  and 
in  The  IndcpcndeJit.  His  brother,  Clifford,  is  also  a  man  of 
talent,  having  published  a  novel,  “Thorn-Fruit”  in  1867. 
Sidney  had  varied  fortunes.  He  was  once  a  teacher  ;  then  being 
a  fine  musician  was  attached  to  Theodore  Thomas’s  concert 
troupe.  Later  he  found  fit  audience  at  the  great  university  until 
his  death. 

He  had  a  theory  of  the  art  of  rhyme  and  rhythm  set  forth  at 
length  in  a  volume  on  the  subject.  Many  have  compared  his 
shorter  poems  with  some  of  Emerson’s  least  comprehensible 
efforts — “  The  Red  Slayer,”  for  instance  ;  but  the  more  carefully 
one  studies  his  unique  effusions,  the  more  of  strength  and  genius 
and  that  ‘  ‘  personality  ’  ’  which  is  the  key-note  of  his  creations  and 
criticisms  alike  is  felt  and  seen.  In  personal  appearance  Sidney 
Lanier  was  of  medium  height,  exceedingly  slight  figure,  closely 
buttoned  in  a  black  suit ;  face  very  pale  and  delicate,  with  finely 
chiseled  features,  dark,  clustering  hair,  parted  in  the  middle,  and 
beard  after  the  manner  of  the  Italian  school  of  art.  Altogether, 
he  had  a  countenance  rare  and  pleasing  as  his  verse.  He  sat 
not  very  reposefully  in  his  professional  arm-chair  and  read  from 
dainty  slips  of  MS.  in  a  clear,  penetrating  voice,  full  of  subtlest 
comprehension,  but  painfully  and  often  interrupted  by  a  cough, 
which  proved  that  the  fell  disease  of  our  New  England  climate 
had  fastened  on  this  gifted  son  of  the  South.  As  we  met  for  a 
moment,  when  the  lecture  was  over,  he  spoke  kindly  of  my  work 
and  Southern  mission,  evincing  that  sympathy  of  the  scholar  with 
the  work  of  progressive  philanthropy  which  our  grand  Wendell 
Phillips  declared  to  be  pathetically  rare.  “We  are  all  striving 
for  one  end,”  said  Lanier,  with  genial,  hopeful  smile  ;  “  and  that 
is  to  develop  and  ennoble  the  humanity  of  which  we  form  a  part.  ” 

Paul  H.  Hayne  was,  par  excellence ,  the  poet  of  the  South — 
“their  Longfellow,”  as  I  often  heard  Southerners  say,  although 
they  claim  a  share  in  the  love  and  reverence  that  we  feel  for 
ours.  He  was  in  1881,  the  only  literary  man  in  the  South  who 
relied  on  the  labor  of  his  pen  in  poetry  for  his  living.  Through 
the  leading  magazines  of  the  North  he  drew  the  remuneration 
for  his  literary  labors — meager  enough,  at  best.  He  was  devoted 
to  his  art,  working,  doubtless,  far  beyond  his  strength;  for  his 


The  Southern  Press 


565 


health  was  very  delicate.  He  lived  in  almost  absolute  seclusion 
at  Berzelia,  near  Augusta,  Ga.,  ministered  to  by  his  devoted 
wife  and  only  child,  William,  a  young  man  who  shares  his 
fathers  genius.  Hayne  was  quite  the  ideal  poet  in  physique, 
with  dark  hair  and  eyes,  mobile  and  kindly  features,  cast  in 
heroic  mould.  His  home  was  plainer  than  that  of  any  among 
his  brother  singers  at  the  North,  one  room  being  papered  from 
floor  to  ceiling  by  his  wife’s  ingenuity,  with  a  mosaic  of  wood 
engravings,  but  it  was  a  most  attractive  place,  lighted  up  by 
their  two  beautiful  souls,  and  their  welcome  to  us  was  the  soul 
of  refinement  and  cordiality.  The  beloved  Southern  laureate 
has  now  passed  on  to  heaven. 

Hayne  was  a  descendant  of  him  against  whom  Daniel  Webster 
directed  the  reply  that  added  so  largely  to  his  fame.  He  was  a 
South  Carolinian  by  birth,  a  voluminous  writer  and  his  verse  is 
of  exquisite  finish,  delicate,  melodious,  brilliant  in  imagery,  but 
marred  by  occasional  affectations  of  obsolete  phraseology  and 
strained  quaintness  of  expression.  At  his  best  he  was  strictly 
a  lyrical  poet,  a  sky-lark,  flying  from  the  grass  with  a  throat  full 
of  song,  not  the  matchless  eagle  whose  pinions  bear  him  out  of 
human  sight,  up  toward  the  sun.  The  South  is  justly  proud 
of  this  lovable  man  and  true  literary  artist  and  points  fearlessly 
to  his  works  when  its  literary  development  is  sneered  at  by  the 
thoughtless  or  malicious. 

The  press  of  the  South  is  far  above  the  grade  usually  assigned 
by  the  vanity  and  ignorance  of  our  Northern  popular  opinion. 
It  is  in  the  large  cities  exceptionally  independent  and  allies  itself 
with  religion  and  philanthropy.  Perhaps  its  temptations  are  less 
than  ours  at  the  North.  Certainly  it  does  not  cater  to  the  igno¬ 
rant  and  base.  It  has  no  fear  of  “the  German  vote”  before  its 
eyes,  and  speaks  with  fairness  of  the  temperance  cause,  often  with 
undisguised  friendliness.  As  yet,  it  has  not  joined  in  the  “  con¬ 
spiracy  of  silence,”  by  which  Northern  journals,  while  they  give 
full  reports  of  the  meetings  of  brewers  and  distillers,  are  often 
“  so  crowded  ”  that,  “much  as  they  would  like  to,  you  know,” 
they  find  it  ‘  ‘  impossible  ’  ’  to  furnish  to  the  temperance  people 
that  larger  audience  which  hears  with  its  eyes  and  might  under¬ 
stand  with  its  heart  and  be  converted,  had  the  greatest  of  reforms 
the  help  of  this  greatest  of  allies. 


566 


Mrs.  Jefferson  Davis. 


At  Mobile  I  met  Augusta  Evans  Wilson,  the  famous  author 
of  ‘  ‘  Beulah  ’  ’  and  other  well-known  novels.  She  could  not  be 
induced  to  speak  of  her  writings,  but  showed  me  her  superb  col¬ 
lection  of  azalias  and  her  costly  Jersey  cows,  in  both  of  which 
curious  creations  she  is  a  connoisseur. 

In  Memphis,  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Jefferson  Davis', 
one  of  the  best  talkers  imaginable,  a  queenly  looking  woman  of 
cosmopolitan  culture  and  broad  progressive  views.  She  spoke 
with  pride  of  her  New  England  tutor,  and  attributed  to  him  a 
determining  impulse  toward  books,  philosophies  and  art.  Her 
daughter  Winifred,  I  met  at  a  New  Orleans  kettledrum,  where 
Mrs.  Judge  Merrick  introduced  us,  and  I  have  rarely  seen  a 
nobler  type  of  educated  American  womanhood.  Her  talents  as  a 
writer  promise  to  lead  her  to  a  literary  career. 

At  a  reception  given  me  by  Mrs.  Merrick,  in  the  Crescent 
City,  I  met  Mrs.  Nicholson,  owner  of  the  New  Orleans  Picayune , 
and  Mrs.  Field  (“Catharine  Cole”)  of  the  New  Orleans  Times- 
Democrat,  literary  women  and  also  charming  society  women. 

Joel  Chandler  Harris  is  a  fine  critic  and  paragraphist,  and 
writes  almost  equally  well  in  verse  and  prose.  He  is  set  down 
by  Southern  literary  authorities  with  whom  I  talked  as  their  best 
humorist.  He  was  educated  at  the  printer’s  case,  is  a  native  of 
Georgia,  and  about  thirty-five  years  of  age  ;  but  his  fame  rests  on 
the  well-known  collection  of  (colored)  folk-lore  entitled  “Uncle 
Remus.”  It  is  not  easy  to  make  his  acquaintance,  by  reason  of 
a  shyness  easily  accounted  for  when  one  remembers  that  he  has  ‘  ‘  a 
brilliant  mind  encased  in  a  homely  and  unprepossessing  body,” 
as  a  friend  of  his  expressed  it.  Not  knowing  this  beforehand, 
I  made  this  entry  in  my  note-baok  on  the  day  of  my  interview 
with  him:  “The  creator  of  ‘Uncle  Remus’  is  a  most  unex¬ 
pected-looking  man  ;  but  a  good  woman  has  condoned  the  fault, 
and  in  his  pleasant  home,  Harris  is  writing  out  his  wealth  of 
wisdom  concerning  the  legends  and  traditions  of  the  slaves.” 
He  told  me  that  “Uncle  Remus”  is  a  veritable  character,  the 
favorite  companion  and  friend  of  his  boyhood,  and  that  these 
stories  which  were  the  delight  of  all  the  children  for  miles 
around  had  been  traced  upon  his  youthful  memory  in  outlines  so 
clear  and  deep,  he  could  not  forget  them,  if  he  would.  Teamed 
men  in  Europe  and  America  will  gladly  know  that  in  the  mine  he 


I 


James  R.  Randall.  567 

has  been  working  with  so  much  skill  there  are  treasures  not  yet 
brought  to  light,  for  which  he  will  not  delve  in  vain. 

James  R.  Randall  is,  perhaps,  the  most  graceful  and  scholarly 
writer  of  the  Southern  press.  He  edits  the  Chronicle  and  Co?isti- 
tutionalist  of  Augusta,  Ga.,  and  gives  to  his  editorials  all  the 
advantages  of  a  pure  literary  style  and  a  rich  and  flowing  diction. 
His  descriptions  of  President  Garfield’s  inauguration  are  the  most 
picturesque  on  record,  and  his  spirit  toward  the  North,  like  that 
of  all  the  leading  journalists  of  his  section,  is  liberal  and  concilia¬ 
tory  ;  yet  his  fame  is  founded  on  the  ringing  war-lyric,  ‘  ‘  Mary¬ 
land,  My  Maryland,”  in  which 

“Huzza  !  she’ll  spurn  the  Northern  scum  ” 

is  a  well-remembered  line.  Mr.  Randall  is  a  large,  fine-looking 
man,  with  full,  dark  eyes,  ample  forehead,  and  delightful  man¬ 
ners.  When  I  asked  him  if 

“  Hark  to  a  wandering  son’s  appeal  ’’ 

was  the  correct  version  of  a  familiar  line  in  his  famous  song,  he 
replied,  promptly:  “No.  It  should  be  ‘exiled  son’  ;  for,  as  a 
native  of  Maryland,  I  felt  my  change  of  residence  as,  indeed,  an 
exile  in  that  crisis.  ’  ’ 

“And  another  line.  Does  it  read 

“  ‘  His  foot  is  at  thy  temple  door,’ 

or  ‘  his  touch,’  as  in  some  versions  ?  ” 

“Oh  !  ‘his  touch,’  by  all  means,”  said  Mr.  Randall,  laugh¬ 
ingly.  “  That  more  clearly  involves  the  idea  of  profanation  !  ” 
But  the  war-songs  do  not  exhibit  Mr.  Randall  at  his  best. 
He  has  the  true  fire  of  genius,  the  divine  afflatus ,  in  abundance 
and  of  the  purest  quality. 

But  why  is  it  that  “Maryland,  My  Maryland,”  “Father 
Ryan’s  Conquered  Banner,”  his  “Sword  of  Lee,”  and  other 
Southern  favorites  are  unmatched  in  fire  and  pathos  by  our 
Northern  verse  of  that  unequaled  period  ?  The  answer  is  not  far 
to  seek.  With  us  the  war  was  at  arms-length  ;  with  them  an 
awful  grapple  for  life  or  death.  Our  homes,  at  least,  were  safe  ; 
theirs  might  any  day  be  food  for  fire-brands.  Our  fields  still 
.smiled  !  theirs  were  trampled  by  the  ruthless  hoof  of  war.  Hence 
the  wild  fervor  of  their  best  martial  strains. 


568 


Gifted  Southrons. 


One  Sunday  afternoon  in  1881,  I  gave  a  temperance  talk  at 
Franconia,  N.  H.  In  the  audience,  as  I  afterward  learned,  were 
Mr.  George  W.  Cable  and  his  wife  and  daughter.  It  pleased  me 
not  a  little  to  hear  him  say  that,  going  home  from  the  meeting, 
this  bright  young  girl,  after  a  long  reverie,  said  to  her  mother, 

‘  ‘  I  intend  to  be  a  total  abstainer  always  after  this,  and  sometime 
a  temperance  talker  with  a  white  ribbon  on  my  breast.” 

For  one  I  have  not  been  greatly  encouraged  by  the  applause 
or  commendation  of  my  auditors — indeed,  have  said  an  hundred 
times  that  if  I  judged  by  their  lack  of  demonstration  I  would 
immediately  quit  the  field,  but  one  pure  girl’s  approbation  thus 
unconventionally  expressed,  helped  me  onward  more  than  the 
genial  man  and  great  author  who  took  the  trouble  to  report  it 
will  ever  know — unless,  as  is  unlikely,  he  reads  these  grateful 
lines. 

Among  other  exceptionally  gifted  Southerners  whose  names  I 
string  as  pearls  on  the  rosary  of  friendship,  are  Sallie  F.  Chapin, 
author  of  “  Fitzhugh  St.  Clair:  the  Rebel  Boy  of  South  Caro¬ 
lina  ’  ’ ;  Georgia  Hulse  McLeod,  of  Baltimore,  Fannie  Casseday 
Duncan,  the  Louisville  journalist,  and  her  saintly  sister  Jennie  ; 
Mrs.  James  Leech,  who  carried  off  the  parliamentary  prize  at  the 
Chautauqua  Examination  ;  Col.  George  W.  Bain  and  family,  of 
Lexington  ;  Mrs.  Jenny  Morton,  the  poetess  of  Frankfort,  Ky.  ; 
Mrs.  Lide  Meriwether,  of  Tennessee,  who  wrote,  ‘  ‘  She  Sails  by  the 
Stars”;  Laura  C.  Holloway,  the  popular  author,  now  of  Brook¬ 
lyn,  N.  Y.  ;  Rev.  Dr.  Atticus  G.  Haygood,  who  declined  to  be  a 
bishop,  and  who  wrote  “Our  Brother  in  Black”;  Judge  East, 
whom  I  call  “the  Abe  Lincoln  of  Tennessee”;  Sam  Jones,  the 
out- y  ankee-ing  Yankee  of  the  South  ;  Judge  Watson,  of  Missis¬ 
sippi,  once  a  Confederate  Senator  and  always  a  Virginia  gentle¬ 
man  of  the  old  school ;  Dr.  Charles  Marshall,  of  Vicksburg,  Judge 
Tourgee,  of  North  Carolina,  and  Mrs.  H.  B.  Kells,  the  white 
ribbon  editor  of  Mississippi. 

The  South  is  moving  steadily  up  toward  its  rightful  place  as 
one  born  to  the  purple  of  literary  power,  and  that  its  women  are 
in  the  van  of  the  march  to  the  throne-room  of  this  highest  aris¬ 
tocracy,  gives  their  Northern  sisters  special  encouragement  and 
pleasure. 


“  Once  on  a  Time” 


569 


I 


f 

WOMEN  SPEAKERS. 

The  first  woman  I  ever  heard  speak  was  the  first  woman  I 
ever  had  a  chance  to  hear.  Her  name  was  Abby  Kelley  Foster  ; 
she  was  refined,  inspired,  but  so  far  ahead  of  her  age  that  she  was 
a  potion  too  strong  for  the  mental  digestion  of  the  average  man. 
She  was  a  woman  speaking  in  public  and  that  was  not  to  be 
tolerated.  She  spoke  against  the  then  cherished  institution  of 
slavery  and  for  that  she  was  to  be  mobbed.  In  the  International 
Council  at  Washington,  in  1888,  I  heard  some  of  her  former 
associates  say  that  she  went  to  church  one  Sunday  in  a  certain 
town  where  she  had  spoken  the  night  before,  and  the  minister 
took  as  his  text,  “That  woman  Jezebel  which  calleth  herself  a 
prophetess,”  and  rained  oratorical  fire  and  brimstone  on  the  poor 
little  reformer  throughout  the  morning  service.  L,et  us  remem¬ 
ber  this,  for  there  are  those  who  are  abused  nowadays  by  short¬ 
sighted  mortals  whose  children  will  be  very  likely  to  build  the 
sepulchers  of  those  whom  their  fathers  traduced. 

I  was  a  little  girl  when  I  heard  Abby  Kelley,  for  it  was  before 
we  left  Oberlin,  so  that  my  impressions  are  not  as  definite  as  I 
could  wish. 

The  next  one  was  a  woman  whose  name  I  do  not  recall.  I 
think  she  was  a  spiritualist,  and  she  spoke  in  a  little  out-of-the- 
way  hall  in  Milwaukee,  when  I  was  a  student  there  in  1857.  I 
had  to  coax  my  Aunt  Sarah  for  some  time  before  she  would  con¬ 
sent  to  let  me  go,  but  she  finally  did  so  as  a  concession  to  what  she 
called  my  “everlasting  curiosity,”  sending  me  in  charge  of  a 
city  friend.  The  woman  was  perched  in  some  queer  fashion  mid¬ 
way  between  the  floor  and  ceiling.  I  think  she  had  short  hair. 
I  know  she  looked  very  queer  and  very  pitiful,  and  I  felt  sorry, 
for  my  intuitions  told  me  that  a  woman  ought  to  be  at  least 


570 


The  Peerless  Anna  Dickinson. 


as  good  a  speaker  as  a  man,  and  quite  as  popular.  Nothing  of 
all  she  said  remains  with  me,  except  one  sentence,  which  I  half 
believe  is  a  fragment  from  some  poet  :  “I  love  to  think  about  a 
central  peace  subsisting  at  the  heart  of  endless  agitation.” 

The  next  woman  I  heard  was  Anna  Dickinson  in  the  hand¬ 
some  Crosby  Opera  House,  Chicago,  during  the  war.  The  audi¬ 
torium  was  packed  ;  the  stage  occupied  by  the  most  distinguished 
gentlemen  of  the  city,  no  ladies  being  allowed  on  its  select  pre¬ 
cincts  save  one,  a  young  woman  hardly  past  twenty,  who  came 
forward  with  poised,  elastic  tread,  took  her  seat  modestly  and 
smiled  her  thanks  as  thunders  of  applause  woke  the  echoes  of 
the  great  pavilion.  Her  dark,  curly  hair  was  flung  back  from 
her  handsome  brow,  her  gray  eyes,  of  which  a  gifted  man  had 
said,  “  They  make  one  believe  in  immortality,”  glanced  around 
upon  us  with  a  look  of  inspiration.  What  she  said  I  do  not 
know,  but  it  set  vibrating  within  my  spirit  the  sacred  chord 
of  patriotism,  for  Anna  Dickinson  was  queen  of  patriots.  Going 
home  that  night  I  could  not  sleep,  for  I  heard  as  clearly  as  I  had 
done  in  the  audience  the  cadence  of  that  wondrous  voice,  its  cour¬ 
age,  its  martial  ring,  and  its  unmeasured  pathos.  Beyond  all  men 
and  women  to  whom  I  have  yet  listened,  Anna  Dickinson  has 
been  to  me  an  inspiration.  In  1875  I  met  her  first  when  I  was 
President  of  the  Chicago  W.  C.  T.  U.  and  she  came  to  the  city 
to  lecture.  Her  agent  wished  her  to  speak  in  Evanston,  and  I 
think  I  never  had  more  pleasure  than  in  using  my  influence  to 
secure  our  church  for  her  and  entertaining  her  in  my  own  home. 
According  to  her  custom,  she  refrained  from  eating  till  the  lecture 
had  been  delivered  ;  then  we  had  supper  in  our  little  dining¬ 
room  and  I  sought  to  have  it  to  her  liking.  We  remained  at 
the  table  until  two  o’clock  at  night,  for  we  were  all  so  much 
delighted  with  her  conversation  that  my  dear  mother,  for  the 
first  time,  forgot  her  early  hours  and  sat  there  until  after  midnight. 
We  talked  of  things  past,  present,  and  to  come.  If  we  had  known 
each  other  always  we  could  not  have  had  more  abandon.  My 
mother  said  to  her,  ‘  ‘  What  do  you  think  of  Christ  ?  ’  ’  She 
paused  as  if  she  had  been  smitten  with  a  blow,  then  changed 
the  subject  skillfully,  but  made  no  answer.  When  I  showed 
Anna  to  her  room,  she  put  her  arm  about  me  saying,  “The 
question  was  so  sudden  that  I  hardly  understood  your  grand  old 


The  First  Gun  for  Home  Protection. 


57i 


mother’s  meaning.  What  do  I  think  of  Christ?  ”  And  then  for 
several  minutes  she  spoke  of  him  with  an  eloquence  and  tenderness 
that  I  have  never  heard  excelled  and  rarely  equaled  in  the  pulpit. 

Later  on  I  saw  her  many  times,  for  she  spent  weeks  at  the 
Palmer  House  writing  her  plays.  The  National  Temperance 
Society  had  a  great  convention  in  Farwell  Hall  during  her  stay. 
I  remember  Vice-president  Wilson  spoke  and  other  distinguished 
men  and  women,  among  them  all  who  were  leaders  of  the  Na¬ 
tional  W.  C.  T.  U.  I  had  prevailed  on  Anna  to  be  present  at  one 
of  these  meetings  when  the  question  of  equal  suffrage  was  to  be 
debated.  Miss  Lavina  Goodell,  a  lawyer  from  Madison,  Wis., 
daughter  of  William  Goodell  the  noted  antislavery  reformer, 
moved,  at  my  suggestion,  that  Miss  Anna  Dickinson  be  invited 
to  speak,  and  at  once  the  house  manifested  both  excitement  and 
applause.  The  friends  of  the  pending  resolution  wanted  her  help, 
the  foes  dreaded  her  voice.  But  the  motion  prevailed  by  a  large 
majority,  and  fts  she  came  along  the  aisle  and  ascended  the  plat¬ 
form,  I  could  think  of  nothing  except  Joan  of  Arc.  Indeed  I 
suppose  she  has  reminded  everybody  of  that  great  character 
more  than  any  other  woman  could.  As  she  stood  there  in  the 
prime  and  plenitude  of  her  magnificent  powers,  simply  attired 
in  a  tasteful  walking  suit  of  gray,  her  great  eyes  flashing,  her  elo¬ 
quent  lips  tremulous  at  the  thought  of  what  was  pending,  she  was 
a  figure  long  to  be  remembered.  Often  as  I  have  heard  her  speak, 
it  seems  to  me  that  day  crowned  all.  It  was  not  so  much  her 
words,  as  I  read  them  in  cold  type  when  the  meeting  was 
reported,  but  it  was  the  mighty  .spirit  that  moved  upon  the  hearts 
and  consciences  of  those  who  heard.  She  seemed  an  avenging 
angel  as  she  depicted  the  injustice  that  fastens  saloons  upon  this 
nation,  and  gives  women  in  the  home  no  remedy  and  no  redress, 
although  they  and  their  children  must  endure  its  awful  cruelty 
and  shame.  Our  resolutions  carried  and  that  was  the  first  gun 
of  the  ever  thickening  campaign,  in  the  midst  of  which  we  now 
are,  and  whose  final  result  will  be  woman  regnant  in  the  state, 
an  outlawed  liquor  traffic  and  a  protected  home. 

How  earnestly  I  pleaded  with  Anna  Dickinson  to  come  with 
us  in  the  temperance  work  !  Sometimes  she  seemed  half  per¬ 
suaded,  but  the  brilliant  friends  around  her  were  patrons  of  the 
drama;  she  felt  her  power,  and  I  am  one  of  those  who  believe  she 


/ 


572 


Elizabeth  Comstock. 


was  entitled  by  her  gifts  to  make  a  magnificent  success  upon  the 
stage.  Earnest  and  tender  were  the  letters  I  sent  her  and  eloquent 
of  hope  the  bouquets  of  flowers.  Indeed,  for  some  months  I  was 
conscious  that  my  spirit  was  polarized  toward  this  splendid 
specimen  of  womanhood.  When  she  was  writing  her  last  book 
“A  Paying  Investment,”  I  saw  her  almost  daily.  She  said  to 
me,  with  her  inimitable  smile,  showing  me  the  chapter  in  which 
a  capital  argument  was  made  in  favor  of  the  temperance  work, 
‘‘See,  Missy,  I  wrote  that  for  you.” 

One  evening  I  took  Elizabeth  Comstock,  the  dear  old 
Quaker  philanthropist  with  me  to  the  hotel,  and  we  made  a 
combined  assault  upon  Anna  to  devote  her  gifts  to  the  temperance 
reform.  She  took  a  hand  of  each  in  her  strong,  warm  palms, 
and  said,  “  Kind  hands,  gentle  hands,  and  sisterly,  fitted  to  the 
deeds  you  do,  and  to  the  burdens  that  you  carry.  Go  your  own 
sweet  way  and  do  your  work,  but  leave  me  to  do  mine  in  my 
own  fashion.  Your  souls  are  calm  and  steadfast,  while  mine  is 
wild  and  stormy.  Let  me  go  my  way  !  ”  Her  voice  trembled  and 
tears  were  in  her  eyes.  After  that  I  knew  the  case  was  hopeless, 
but  my  love  and  prayers  have  followed  her  all  the  years,  and  I 
have  been  grieved,  as  words  may  not  relate,  in  all  the  griefs 
and  losses  that  have  come  to  her. 

Everybody  agrees  that  our  present  queen  of  the  platform  is 
Mrs.  Mary  A.  Livermore,  than  whom  no  American  woman  has  a 
better  record  for  patriotism  and  philanthropy.  We  women  of 
a  later  time  were  fortunate  in  having  for  forerunners  the  two 
remarkably  endowed  women  I  have  named,  and  we  should  be 
forever  grateful  to  that  statesman-like  speaker  and  chief-reformer, 
Susan  B.  Anthony  ;  to  Elizabeth  Cady  Stanton,  the  philosopher, 
and  Lucy  Stone,  the  heroic  pioneer,  who  still  earlier  bore  the 
brunt  of  battle  for  us,  and  whose  names  millions  of  loyal  hearts 
will  cherish.  As  a  speaker,  Julia  Ward  Howe  has  a  rare  niche 
of  her  own  among  the  most  cultured  women  of  her  century,  and 
surely  our  gratitude  to  her  will  not  be  less,  who  has  laid  fame 
and  fortune  on  the  altar  of  a  sacred  cause  in  circles  the  most  dif¬ 
ficult  to  reach  and  win.  The  platform  is  already  a  conquered 
field  for  woman  ;  so  is  the  pulpit  in  all  senses  save  the  sacerdotal, 
and  here  our  progress  is  steady  and  sure.  God  bless  the  gener¬ 
ous-hearted  men  who  from  the  first  have  fought  valiantly  for  the 


Albro  E.  Bishop. 


573 


fulfillment  of  that  blessed  prophecy,  “The  Eord  gave  the  word, 
the  women  that  publish  the  tidings  are  a  great  host.” 

HOW  I  CAME  TO  BE  A  PUBLIC  SPEAKER. 

One  day  when  I  was  doing  house-work  at  Rest  Cottage,  the 
winter  my  mother,  my  friend  Kate  and  I  decided  to  have  no 
stranger  intermeddle  with  our  lot,  either  in  kitchen  or  parlor,  a 
gray-haired  gentleman,  the  scrupulously  elegant  style  of  whose 
toilet  made  an  impression  even  upon  one  who  gives  but  little 
attention  to  such  subjects,  rang  our  door-bell  and  inquired  if  this 
was  the  home  of  Frances  E.  Willard.  Being  affirmatively  an¬ 
swered,  he  entered,  with  much  mingled  dignity  and  urbanity,  and 
addressed  his  remarks  about  equally  to  my  mother  and  myself  as 
we  were  all  seated  in  the  little  south  parlor.  He  discoursed  some¬ 
what  on  this  wise  :  “I  have  been  present  at  several  of  the  meet¬ 
ings  of  the  Women’s  Foreign  Missionary  Society  before  which 
you  have  been  speaking  within  the  last  few  weeks  concerning 
your  observations  in  Egypt  and  the  Holy  Eand.  It  seems  to  me 
you  have  the  art  of  putting  things,  the  self-possession  and  many 
other  of  the  necessary  requisites  of  a  good  speaker.  And  I  said 
to  myself,  I  will  go  and  see  that  lady  ;  she  is  a  good  Methodist, 
as  I  am,  and  I  will  invite  her  to  lecture  in  Centenary  Church,  of 
which  I  am  trustee,  making  this  agreement,  that  if  she  will  work 
up  a  good,  popular  lecture,  I  will  work  up  a  good,  popular  audi¬ 
ence,  will  pay  her  a  fair  price  for  her  effort,  and  will  see  that  it  is 
well  represented  by  the  press  of  Chicago.  It  occurs  to  me  that 
as  the  result,  if  all  goes  as  well  as  I  believe  it  will,  she  will  have 
no  more  difficulty  in  making  her  livelihood  and  broadening  her 
opportunities  of  usefulness.  ’  ’ 

The  pleasant-faced  gentleman  looked  to  me  very  much  like  a 
combination  of  Santa  Claus  and  a  horn-of-plenty  as  he  uttered 
these  words.  Mother  seemed  equally  delighted,  and  we  told  him 
that  he  was  the  kindest  of  men  to  have  thought  of  me  with  so 
much  interest ;  that  I  had  returned  from  Europe  a  few  months 
before,  earnestly  desirous  of  employing  my  time  to  the  best  ad¬ 
vantage  for  the  support  of  my  mother  and  myself,  and  for  the 
good  of  those  among  whom  I  might  labor  ;  that  what  he  had 
promised  would  suit  me  to  a  dot,  as  I  had.  all  my  life  felt  a  strong 
inclination  to  speak  in  public  and  had  only  been  withheld  from 
doing  so  before,  because  of  the  somewhat  conservative  atmosphere 


574 


“  The  New  Chivalry.  ” 


of  the  educational  institutions  in  which  I  had  spent  the  last  few 
years  and  my  own  sensitiveness  to  appearing  in  public. 

Declaring  that  he  had  no  claim  upon  our  gratitude,  the  pleas¬ 
ant  gentleman  went  his  way,  and  for  the  next  three  weeks  he 
invested  a  good  share  of  his  time  in  interviewing  influential  per¬ 
sons  and  in  working  up  with  all  the  ingenuity  of  which  he  was  a 
consummate  master,  an  interest  in  me  and  in  the  lecture  that  was 
to  be. 

For  myself,  I  spent  those  three  weeks  in  the  closest  kind  of 
study,  writing  and  committing  to  memory  a  lecture  about  one 
hour  and  a  half  long  entitled,  ‘  ‘  The  New  Chivalry.  ’  ’ 

On  the  evening  of  March  21,  1871,  I  appeared  with  my 
friends,  Rev.  Dr.  Reid,  editor  of  the  Northwestern  Christian 
Advocate ,  and  his  daughter  Annie,  at  the  luxurious  home  of  the 
kind  gentleman,  where  we  took  tea,  and  then  went  over  to  the 
handsome  city  church,  where  I  was  presented  at  the  door  with 
an  elegant  card,  the  first  ticket  that  I  had  ever  seen  about  a 
lecture  of  my  own.  It  read  as  follows  : 


MISS  FRANCES  E.  WIEEARD  WIEE  GIVE  HER  EECTURE, 
“THE  NEW  CHIVALRY.” 

f 

In  the  Centenary  {Dr.  Fowler's)  Church. 

Tuesday  Evening,  March  21,  1871,  at  7:30  p.m. 
Tickets . Twenty-five  Cents. 


The  pleasant-faced  gentleman  said,  as  he  reached  his  kindly 
hand  to  me,  “Turn  the  crank  skillfully  at  your  end  of  the 
church,  and  I  will  do  so  here,”  for,  behold,  he  was  gathering  up 
the  tickets  himself !  I  was  gracefully  introduced  by  Dr.  Fowler, 
the  pastor  of  the  church,  and  spoke  my  piece,  making  no  refer¬ 
ence  whatever  to  my  manuscript  which  lay  concealed  in  a  modest 
portfolio  that  had  been  previously  carried  in  and  placed  upon  the 
pulpit.  My  audience  consisted  of  the  elite  of  the  West  Side, 
with  many  from  the  North  and  South  Sides,  and  they  cheered  me 
far  beyond  my  merits.  At  the  close  the  pleasant  gentleman  intro¬ 
duced  me  to  a  semicircle  of  well-known  journalists  of  the  city, 
whom  he  had  as  good  as  coerced  into  being  present,  and  in  my 


The  Stenographer  of  Memory .” 


575 


<  < 


private  opinion,  he  had  caused  to  be  written  up  at  his  dictation 
the  very  nice  notices  that  the  young  debutante  upon  the  platform 
was  so  fortunate  to  win  from  the  Chicago  press.  Need  I  say  that 
I  have  always  gratefully  remembered  him,  perhaps  more  grate¬ 
fully  than  he  or  his  have  been  aware,  and  here  I  write,  with 
affectionate  memory  of  one  who  has  passed  beyond  our  sight, 
above  our  ken,  the  name  of  Albro  E.  Bishop. 

ABOUT  SPEAKERS. 

Always,  in  presence  of  an  audience  I  am  saying  to  myself  at 
one  time  or  another,  ‘  ‘  How  dare  I  stand  here,  taking  at  least  a 
thousand  hours  of  time,  and  focalizing  the  attention  of  a  thousand 
immortal  human  spirits  ?  Who  am  I,  that  so  great  possibilities 
of  influence  should  have  fallen  to  my  lot  ?  And  I  must  remem¬ 
ber  that  there  is  a  stenographer  always  present,  the  stenographer 
of  memory,  and  that  in  the  white  light  of  the  world  to  come,  not 
only  what  I  utter  here,  but  every  thought  I  think,  will  stand  out 
plain  as  the  sun  in  the  heavens, — for  every  soul  shall  give  account 
of  himself  to  God. 

There  is  something  unspeakably  pathetic  about  the  life  of 
one  to  whom  must  frequently  recur  the  unmatched  responsibility 
of  meeting  public  audiences.  His  is  a  joy  and  sorrow  with  which 
none  intermeddleth.  A  ring  at  the  bell  may  dissipate  a  thought 
he  was  just  catching  on  his  pencil’s  tip  in  the  preparation  of  a 
speech  ;  a  rap  at  the  door  may  put  to  flight  the  outline  of  an 
address  ;  the  constant  coming  and  going  of  people  who  really 
must  see  him,  break  into  staccato  snatches  the  speech  that  might 
have  been  flowing,  deep  and  bright.  His  riches,  what  he  has, 
are  like  Sojourner  Truth’s — “  in  his  idees,”  yet  they  are  scattered 
right  and  left,  as  if  they  were  of  the  smallest  consequence, 
because  they  are  impalpable,  invisible,  unheard.  He  grieves  for 
the  thousand  children  of  the  brain  that  might  have  come  to  light, 
had  they  not  been  throttled  in  their  birth.  He  knows  the  mean¬ 
ing  of  the  words,  “  travail  of  soul.”  Then  he  must  put  aside  a 
thousand  pleasant  things  in  nature,  music,  books,  society,  for  he 
has  a  certain  speech  to  make  at  a  certain  time,  and,  like  an 
engine  on  the  track,  he  must  go  forward  toward  that  time.  True 
as  this  is  on  a  great  scale  of  the  great  speakers,  it  is  also  pathet¬ 
ically  true  of  us  who  are  the  lesser  lights. 


576 


First  Public  Lecture. 


THE  NEW  CHIVAERY; 

OR,  THE  SCHOOL-MISTRESS  ABROAD. 

[Here  follows  my  first  public  lecture,  which  is  chiefly  made  up  of  obser¬ 
vations  upon  women  in  Europe — whose  sorrowful  estate,  as  I  studied  it 
twenty  years  ago,  had  much  to  do  with  giving  me  the  courage  to  become  a 
public  speaker.] 

Bayard  Taylor,  Paul  du  Chaillu  and  Dr.  Hayes  picture  for 
us  the  inhospitable  climes  in  whose  exploration  they  hazarded 
their  lives  ;  Emily  Faithful  comes  across  seas  to  tell  us  of  her 
work  among  the  toiling  masses  of  Great  Britain  ;  the  Sage  of  Con¬ 
cord,  founder  of  our  lecture  system,  comes  from  his  meditations 
to  tell  us  what  he  heard  a  voice  saying  unto  him,  “  Write.” 

A  humbler  duty  lies  upon  my  heart.  I  have  no  poem  to 
recite,  no  marvelous  discovery  to  herald.  I  come  to  you  in  the 
modest  character  of  the  school-mistress  abroad  ;  in  the  capacity 
of  friend-in-general  to  our  girls.  • 

Gail  Hamilton,  in  that  most  racy  of  her  essays,  entitled 
“Men  and  Women,”  exclaims  with  a  burst  of  enthusiasm:  ‘‘I 
love  women,  I  adore  them  !  ”  But,  by  wray  of  compensation,  she 
declares  in  the  next  sentence  that  “There’s  nothing  so  splendid 
as  a  splendid  man.” 

Now  I  have  no  disposition  to  deny  either  of  Gail’s  state¬ 
ments,  but  I  would  repeat  and  emphasize  the  first. 

And  by  “women,”  be  it  distinctly  understood,  I  always  and 
invariably  mean  girls.  The  largest  part  of  my  life,  thus  far,  has 
been  spent  in  their  service.  I  claim  to  have  coaxed  and  reproved, 
caressed  and  scolded,  corrected  the  compositions  and  read  the 
love-letters  of  more  girls  than  almost  any  other  school-ma’am  in 
the  Northwest.  I  began  with  them  before  I  was  eighteen,  in 
my  ‘  ‘  Forest  Home  ’  ’  on  the  banks  of  a  Wisconsin  river,  the  noblest 
river  in  the  world  to  me,  though  since  last  I  floated  on  its  breast 
I  have  wandered  as  far  as  the  Volga,  the  Jordan,  and  the  Nile. 


A?i  Egyptian  Woman. 


577 


In  district  schools,  academies,  and  ladies’  colleges,  both 
East  and  West,  I  have  pursued  their  fortunes  ;  in  schools  where 
they  were  marshalled,  two  by  two,  when  taking  daily  exercise, 
and  when  it  was  my  happy  lot  to  be  their  guardian  on  shopping 
expeditions  ;  and  anon,  in  easy-going  schools,  where  in  the  recita¬ 
tion  rooms  black  coats  were  numerous  as  basques,  and  opposite 
each  demure  young  lady  at  the  dinner  table  sat  a  being  with  a 
bass  voice  and  hair  parted  on  one  side.  Then  I  wandered 
away  from  the  merry-faced  girls  of  America,  and  for  two  years 
and  a  half  studied  their  sisters  in  Europe  and  the  East.  Coming 
home  full  of  new  thoughts  and  more  earnest  purposes,  I  gathered 
them  around  me  once  again — the  fortunate  daughters  of  the  dear 
Home  Land — and  understood,  as  I  could  not  have  done  before, 
what  maketh  them  to  differ  from  the  sad-faced  multitudes  beyond 
the  seas. 

Let  me,  then,  invoke  your  patience  while  together  we  review 
the  argument  from  real  life  which  has  placed  me  on  the  affirma¬ 
tive  side  of  the  tremendous  “Woman  Question” — while  we 
consider  the  lot  of  woman  beyond  the  seas,  and  then  contrast 
this  with  her  position,  present  and  prospective,  here  in  America, 
and  while  we  seek  the  reasons  of  this  amazing  difference.  Or, 
as  I  like  better  to  express  it,  let  me  try  to  picture  the  position 
taken  by  the  New  Chivalry  of  our  native  land  in  contrast  with 
that  of  the  Old  Chivalry  in  the  old  world.  And  by  this  term, 
“The  Chivalry,”  for  I  do  not  use  it  as  a  dictionary  word,  I 
mean  to  denote  (sometimes  sincerely,  and  sometimes  sarcastically) 
the  sex  now  dominant  upon  this  planet. 

I  shall  ask  you,  first  of  all,  to  take  a  glance  with  me  at  the 
saddest  of  destinies  in  whose  presence  I  have  deduced  conclusions, 
the  destiny  of  an  Egyptian  woman.  It  is  a  June  day  in  th  e 
month  of  February.  We  are  floating  lazily  along  the  balmy 
Nile,  reclining  on  the  crimson  cushions  of  our  gay  daliabeah. 
As  we  gaze  upon  the  plumy  palm  trees  and  away  over  the  desert’s 
yellow  sands,  a  tall,  slight  form  comes  between  us  and  the 
dreamy  horizon,  and  passes  rapidly  along  the  bank,  looking  weird 
and  strange  in  its  flowing  robe  of  black.  If  we  come  near 
enough,  the  sight  of  that  dusky  face,  into  which  the  misery  of 
centuries  seems  crowded,  will  smite  us  like  a  blow  ;  and  as  the 
37 


578 


A  Roman  Matron  of  the  Period. 


child  shares  always  in  the  mother’s  degradation  (as  in  her  joy), 
we  shall  find  the  baby  on  this  sad  woman’s  shoulder  the  most 
wretched  little  being  ever  victimized  into  existence.  This 
woman  is  perhaps  seventeen  years  old,  and  has  already  passed 
the  noonday  of  her  strength.  Into  this  fate  of  marriage  was  she 
sold  before  the  age  of  ten,  by  her  own  father’s  hand.  If  she 
should  prove  unfaithful  to  its  vow,  honor  would  call  upon  him, 
with  imperious  voice,  to  cut  her  into  pieces  and  consign  her  to 
the  Nile.  The  history  of  this  silent,  uncomplaining  woman  is  a 
brief  one.  She  asserts  her  “rights”  in  no  “convention”;  she 
flings  no  gauntlet  of  defiance  in  the  face  of  her  “manifest 
destiny.”  She  is  the  zero-mark  upon  the  scale  of  being,  and 
her  symbol  is  a  tear.  But  upon  a  fate  so  dire  as  this,  I  will  not 
ask  you  to  look  longer.  Let  us  turn  our  eyes  westward — the 
Star  of  Bethlehem  moves  thither  evermore,  and  the  next  illustra¬ 
tion  of  old-world  Chivalry,  though  sad  enough,  will  be  far  less 
painful  than  the  last. 

La  Signora  Sopranzi  is  a  Roman  matron  of  the  period,  with 
all  Italia’s  romance  stifled  in  her  heart.  She  was  once  celebrated 
for  her  beauty,  but  she  is  already  thirty-four  years  old.  Her  hair 
is  gray,  her  gentle  eyes  are  dim,  and  of  the  glory  long  ago  de¬ 
parted,  only  those  “traces”  remain  on  which  the  novelist  lingers 
with  so  much  pathos.  Her  father  was  a  Roman  lawyer,  but  he  was 
also  Garibaldi’s  friend,  and  so  the  Pope  shut  him  up  in  the  ample 
dungeons  of  St.  Angelo.  Her  husband,  the  veriest  ne’er-do-weel 
who  ever  joined  the  beauty  of  Adonis  to  the  wiles  of  Mephis- 
topheles,  has  gallantly  left  her  to  solve  the  problem  of  a  main¬ 
tenance  for  himself,  herself,  and  her  little  ones.  The  only  ‘  ‘gen¬ 
teel”  avocations  suited  to  her  “.sphere,”  are  to  keep  a  fashionable 
boarding-house  and  give  Italian  lessons.  I  have  reason  to  con¬ 
gratulate  myself  upon  the  remarkable  enterprise  she  thus  dis¬ 
played,  for  in  her  capacity  of  hostess  and  instructor,  she  intro¬ 
duced  me  to  an  extensive  circle  of  acquaintances  among  the  more 
intelligent  of  her  countrywomen,  and  all  I  learned  of  them  gave 
me  a  stronger  purpose  of  helpfulness  toward  women.  They  were 
not  innovators,  I  promise  you!  They  had  never  heard  about  a 
“College  Education”;  no  taint  of  the  new  world’s  unrest  had  ever 
reached  their  placid  souls.  Indeed,  their  average  wisdom  as  to 


The  Most  Beautiful  Girl  in  Rome. 


579 


the  Great  Republic,  is  well  illustrated  by  this  question,  propounded 
gravely  to  me  on  more  than  one  occasion: 

‘  ‘When  our  Cristoforo  Colombo  discovered  your  America,  did 
he  find  many  Indians  there  as  light-coinplexioned  as  yourself?” 
They  knew  they  were  not  very  wise,  poor  things!  and  often  said, 
shrugging  their  shoulders  most  expressively: 

“We  marry  so  early,  you  know,  there’s  really  very  little  need 
that  we  should  study  much.  Indeed,  in  Italy,  it  hurts  a  woman's 
prospects  to  be  troppo  istrutta  (‘too  wrell  instructed’),  and  you  .see 
this  is  a  point  we  cannot  guard  too  carefully ,  for  out  of  marriage, 
there  is  no  place  for  us,  except  the  cloister.  ’  ’ 

My  landlady’s  daughter,  Bianca,  was  the  most  beautiful  girl 
in  Rome,  chief  city  of  fair  women.  Although  but  twelve  years 
old,  she  was  a  woman  in  her  words  and  ways.  I  was  very  fond 
of  her,  and  used  often  to  wish  I  could  lift  her  out  of  that  lifeless 
atmosphere — breathed  by  so  many  generations  that  almost  all  the 
oxygen  is  gone — and  electrify  her  with  the  air  that  blows  across 
our  Illinois  prairies.  In  one  of  our  frequent  conversations  she 
thus  stated  her  ideas  upon  a  theme  to  which  she  had  evidently  given 
no  casual  thought.  Remember  I  give  her  precise  language-that  of 
a  young  lady  of  twelve  (for  my  practice  when  abroad  illustrated 
that  line  of  Burns’,  ‘‘a  chiel’s  amang  ye  takin’  notes”): 

‘‘We  are  too  tender-hearted,  we  women  of  Italia.  Why,.  I 
have  a  cousin  who  is  dying  of  grief  because  her  lover  seems  cold 
of  late.  I  laugh  at  her,  and  say,  ‘Ah,  bella  Margherita ,  you  are 
a  little  idiot!  You  should  not  waste  yourself  thus,  upon  that  silly 
Antonio.’  You  shall  see  how  I’ll  behave!  I  will  never  marry  in 
this  world.  I  have  seen  too  much  unhappiness  among  these  hus¬ 
bands  and  wives.  And  yet,  you  see,  ’twill  not  be  easy  for  me  to 
escape  (she  said  with  charming  naivetf).  Why,  the  other  evening 
I  went  to  see  the  sunset  from  the  Pincian  hill  with  my  naughty, 
handsome  papa,  and  a  foolish  boy,  not  so  tall  as  I  am,  a  mere  child, 
indeed,  but  dressed  up  like  a  young  gentleman,  with  white  vest, 
gold  chain,  and  carrying  a  silly  little  cane,  whispered  to  me,  while 
papa  smoked  his  cigar  upon  the  terrace  and  I  sat  near  the  foun¬ 
tain,  that  he  should  come  this  very  night  and  play  the  mandolino 
under  my  window.  But  I  turned  my  face  awray,  and  when  he 
persisted,  I  scowled  at  him  from  under  my  black  eye-brows  and 


58° 


Grcca  Caveri  of  Genoa. 


just  dared  him  to  come!  I  tell  you,  Signorina,  that  I  will  not  fall 
in  love  for  a  long,  long  time  yet,  if  ever,  for  in  our  country  it  kills 
women  or  else  it  drives  them  mad.  I’m  going  to  give  Italian 
lessons  like  my  poor  mamma,  and  in  character  I’m  going  to  be  a  real 
Americana — calm  as  the  broad  Campagna,  cold  as  the  catacombs. 
For  I  am  very  sad  over  the  women  of  my  country.  Fife  begins 
with  them  at  twelve,  and  at  twenty-five  they  are  already  old;  the 
lights  are  out — the  play  is  over.  ’  ’ 

And  yet  when  I  have  sung  the  praises  of  my  native  land  to 
beautiful  Bianca,  her  eyes  have  gleamed  with  a  new  splendor  as 
she  stood  erect  and  said:  “Ah!  but  I  am  a  Roman,  and  still  to 
be  a  Roman  were  greater  than  a  king.  ’  ’  (But,  mind  you,  some 
bright  American  had  taught  the  little  magpie  that!) 

Somewhat  to  the  same  purpose  as  dark-eyed  Bianca’s  words, 
were  those  her  pale-faced  mother  had  spoken  to  me  that  very 
morning: 

‘  ‘  Men  cannot  be  as  good  as  we  are,  ’  ’  she  said  in  her  voice 
most  musical,  most  melancholy.  “I’m  sure  that  they  are  not  so 
dear  to  God.  We  suffer  so — our  lives  call  down  the  pity  of  all 
the  Saints  in  Heaven.  Fife  gives  us  just  one  choice — to  be  wives 
or  to  be  nuns,  and  society  sneers  at  us  so  cruelly  if  we  neither 
wear  the  marriage-ring  nor  the  consecrating  crucifix,  that  we  are 
never  happy  unless  we  are  miserable — and  so  we  marry!  You 
of  the  North  have  a  thousand  defenses,”  she  continued,  mourn¬ 
fully,  ‘  ‘the  intellect  yields  you  so  many  pleasures,  and  your  man¬ 
ner  of  life  renders  you  brave — so  that  you  are  seldom  at  the  mercy 
of  your  hearts.  Sometimes  I  think  there  must  be  a  sort  of  magic, 
though,  about  it  all,  and  I  have  asked  many  of  your  country-wo¬ 
men  to  let  me  have  their  talisman,  for  my  poor  daughter’s  sake.” 

One  of  my  nicest  little  friends  in  Rome  was  Greca  Caveri,  of 
Genoa,  who  had  come  with  her  father  to  witness  the  opening  of  the 
Oecumenical  Council.  She  was  seventeen  years  old,  and  evinced  so 
much  delight  when  I  offered  to  give  her  English  lessons,  that, 
struck  with  her  youth,  I  asked  why  she  did  not  go  to  school.  She 
looked  at  me  in  surprise,  saying, —  “Does  not  the  Signorina 
know  that  I  am  superior  in  education  to  my  countrywomen 
generally?  My  father  is  one  of  King  Victor  Emmanuel’s 
lawyers,  and  a  learned  man.  Moreover,  he  has  very  advanced 


She  Awaits  the  Coming  Man. 


5^1 


ideas  about  what  a  lady  should  be  permitted  to  know,  and  so  he 
placed  me  in  the  best  school  for  girls  at  Turin.  I  completed  my 
education  there  on  my  sixteenth  birthday,  one  year  ago.  This  is 
what  has  kept  me  unsettled  until  I  am  so  old.  But  then  I  have 
learned  music,  French,  drawing  and  dancing — not  to  speak  of  the 
Catechism  and  the  lives  of  the  Saints.  ’  ’ 

She  went  on  to  tell  me  that  her  dear  mamma,  whose  loss  her 
dear  papa  so  much  deplored,  had  been  three  years  married,  at  her 
age,  and  then  it  dawned  on  my  dull  wits  that  she  was  one  among 
that  vast  and  noble  army  of  martyrs  who,  with  sad  face  and  lifted 
glance,  await  the  Coming  Man. 

Poor  Greca’s  sad  dilemma  gave  me  long,  long  thoughts  about 
a  brave  young  country  far  away,  whose  institutions  each  year 
more  generously  endeavor  to  take  sides  with  homely  women  in  the 
tug  of  life,  and  to  compensate  thus  for  nature’s  wayward  negli¬ 
gence.  I  tried  to  talk  of  this  to  sweet-voiced  Greca,  and  she  list¬ 
ened  with  a  flush  of  pleased  surpri.se,  but  soon  relapsed  into  her 
normal  way  of  thinking,  saying  as  she  shook  her  little  head:  “But 
then,  dear  friend,  you  know  we  women  have  but  one  vocation — 
there’s  no  denying  it.’’ 

A  few  days  later,  on  New  Year’s  morning,  she  ran  to  my 
room,  saying: 

“Now,  I’m  going  to  try  a  sign!  As  I  go  to  the  Vatican  with 
papa,  on  this  first  day  of  the  year  1870,  I’m  going  to  notice  whom 
I  meet  first.  If  it’s  a  giovinotto  (young  man)  I  shall  surely  be 
married  this  year;  if  it’s  a  priest ,  why  I  shall  die,  and  there  wTill 
be  an  end  of  it;  but  misericordia!  if  it  should  be  an  old  man,  I 
must  resta7re  in  casa  another  year  still.’’ 

“What’s  that?”  I  asked;  the  idiom  was  new;  literally  trans¬ 
lated,  it  meant,  “Stay  in  the  house.” 

“Why,  don’t  you  understand  ?”  the  girl  explained;  “in  my 
country,  if  a  girl  isn’t  married,  she  stays  in  the  house,  and,  oh!  I 
do  so  long  to  get  out  into  the  world!" 

“You  say,  Signorina,  that  the  women  are  so  crazy  as  to  set 
up  for  doctors  in  your  country  ?  It  is  a  folly  and  a  crime. 
I  wonder  that  the  priests  don’t  interfere.  Whatever  will  become 
of  the  buttons  and  the  general  house-work  ?  ’  ’ 

Thus  spake  an  elderly  Italian  dame,  the  thinning  ranks  of 


582 


A  Roman  Old  Maid. 


whose  own  buttons  I  was  even  then  contemplating  with  a  some¬ 
what  startled  glance  ! 

‘  ‘  And  you  tell  me  there  are  fifty  thousand  lady  teachers  in 
the  United  States  ?  It  is  alarming  !  What  will  you  come  to,  at 
last,  in  a  country  where  women  are  permitted  thus  to  usurp  author¬ 
ity  over  the  men  ?  ’  ’ 

I  told  her  what  a  wag  has  called  ‘  ‘  the  horrible  statistics.  ’  ’ 
How  that  two  millions  of  men  had  been  killed  in  our  late  war, 
and  that  hence  there  were  in  many  of  our  states  thousands  more 
women  than  men  ;  that  in  England  there  are  three  millions  of  un¬ 
married  women,  of  whom  two  millions  have  a  choice  different  from 
the  fair  Italians — namely,  to  be  their  own  bread-winners,  or  starve. 
Indeed,  my  figures  grew  conclusive,  whereupon  she  stopped  her 
ears  and  exclaimed,  with  a  charming  grimace,  “  For  love  of 
Heaven,  don’t  go  up  any  higher  !  Don’t  you  know  that  I  can’1 
add  more  figures  than  I  have  fingers  on  this  hand  ?  ” 

I  should  regret  to  weary  you  with  my  Italians,  but  am 
tempted  to  give  you  a  glimpse  into  the  life  of  a  Roman  old  maid 
because  I  fancy  I  have  here  that  single  aspect  of  human  life  in 
Rome  which  neither  poet  nor  historian  has  ever  treated — and 
because  the  reverse  of  the  medal  has  a  lesson  for  us  also. 

She  was  a  rara  avis.  I  did  not  see  another  of  her  .species  in  all 
Italy,  and  if  she  had  not  been  a  little  unbeliever  in  all  such  shams 
as  Pope  and  priest,  she  would  long  ago  have  sought  the  shelter 
of  a  convent,  and  borrowed  the  name  of  some  woman-saint,  since 
she  could  not  otherwise  get  rid  of  her  own.  And  yet,  hers  was  a 
pretty  one,  I  thought — Alessandrina  Paradisi.  She  was  one  of 
those  against  whom  Nature  seems  to  have  a  pique,  yet  often,  as 
I  looked  at  her  puny,  hump-backed  figure  and  heavy  features,  it 
seemed  to  me  that,  after  all,  Nature  had  treated  her  very  much  as 
legend  tells  us  Jupiter  did  the  Poet,  who  came  to  him  complaining 
that  to  Tellus  had  been  assigned  the  earth,  and  to  Neptune  the 
sea,  while  to  him  nothing  whatever  had  been  offered,  whereupon 
Jupiter  said:  “For  thee,  O  Poet,  I  have  reserved  the  key  of 
Heaven,  that  thou  mayst  come  and  go  at  will,  and  be  my  guest.’’ 
For  a  spirit  looked  from  the  intense,  dark  eyes  of  Alessandrina, 
which  had  no  peer  among  her  sisters  ;  an  eloquent  voice  kept 
silence  behind  those  mournful  lips  ;  a  brain  that  harbored  noble 


Alessandrina  Paradisi. 


583 


thoughts,  was  lying  half-asleep  under  that  mass  of  shadowy  hair. 

Permit  this  record  of  an  evening’s  talk  with  my  favorite  little 
Italian  : 

Jan.  10,  1870.  She  has  been  to  see  me  again,  “  la  p over a 
piccolo,  sorella  ’  (  “  the  poor  little  sister  ”  )  as  they  all  call  her.  It 

is  really  marvelous,  the  faculty  this  small  creature  has  of  making 
me  understand  the  rich,  soft  utterance  of  her  mother-tongue.  To¬ 
night  she  gave  me,  without  intending  it,  perhaps,  a  peep  into  a 
place  I  had  greatly  wished  but  dared  not  hope  to  see — her  heart. 
It  was  on  this  wise.  She  was  describing  a  representation  she  had 
witnessed,  recently,  at  the  theatre  in  Naples.  As  the  climax 
approached  she  became  animated.  It  was,  as  it  ought  to  be 
always,  the  triumph  of  virtue  and  punishment  of  vice,  or,  to 
employ  her  words, — “So,  at  last,  the  husband  confessed  his  fault 
to  his  forgiving  wife,  and  they  lived  in  peace  ever  after,  while  the 
hateful  woman  who  had  caused  the  mischief,  was  sent  off  to  parts 
unknown.”  And  here  the  little  narrator  clapped  her  hands,  say¬ 
ing, — “  Don’t  you  see,  cara  arnica,  that  it  was  a  beautiful  play  ?  ” 
When  I  asked  if,  after  witnessing  the  pageants  of  the  stage,  every 
day  life  did  not  seem  doubly  tame,  she  scowled,  shrugged  her 
poor  shoulders,  and,  presto ,  came  my  peep  at  hearts  : — 

“Yes,  Signorina,  what  you  say  is  true.  But  look  at  me! 
Tife  cannot  yield  me  much  at  best.  Indeed,  it  is  so  sombre,  that 
it  doesn’t  matter  if  these  brilliant  contrasts  the  theatre  affords, 
make  that  look  a  shade  darker,  which  is  always  dark.  I  frankly 
tell  you  that  if  the  good  God  had  asked  me  I  would  have  begged 
Him  not  to  thrust  me  into  this  world.  But  he  did  not,  and  here 
I  am,  and  there  is  nothing  left  me  but  to  make  the  best  of  it.  I 
am  twenty-nine  years  old,  and  by  this  time,  you  see,  I  am  accus¬ 
tomed  to  my  lot.  I  quarreled  with  it,  sadly,  though,  when  I  was 
younger.  Ah,  I  have  passed  some  bitter  years  !  But  I’ve  grown 
wiser  now,  and  try  to  bring  what  happiness  I  can  to  others,  and 
to  forget  myself.  Only  I  dread  lest  I  must  grow  old,  with  no¬ 
body  to  take  care  of  me.  But  I  try  to  keep  a  young  heart,  and 
so  I  give  my  thoughts  to  God’s  fair  world,  and  to  hopes  of  a 
future  life.  Is  not  God  kind,  who  gives  me  sweet  sleep,  always, 
and  dreams  more  fair  than  anything  that  I  have  ever  seen  in  any 
play  or  read  in  any  poem  ?  And  He  lets  me  sleep  ten  hours  in 


5§4 


In  Paris  Wives  Buy  Husbands . 


every  twenty-four,  and  dream  right  through  them  all !  I  would 
never  dare  to  care  for  any  one,  you  know,  and  nobody  could  be 
expected  to  find  any  charm  in  me — besides,  in  Italy,  people  like 
me  never  go  into  society.  And  so  Rome,  my  native  city,  has  the 
love  I  might  have  given  in  ties  more  tender.  Ah.  shall  I  live,  I 
wonder,  to  see  Rome  free?  What  would  I  not  do  for  her,  if  I  dared  ?’  ’ 

But  here  her  tone  changed  to  the  mocking  spirit  that  is  more 
pitiful  than  tears:  ‘Women  are  nothing  in  Italy,  you  know. 
Think  of  it!  I  am  twenty-nine  years  old!  my  brother  Romana  is 
eighteen,  but  on  my  father’s  death,  this  boy  became  my  guardian, 
and  I  take  from  his  hand  whatever  he  chooses  to  give  me  from 
the  estate  for  my  support,  and  do  not  murmur.  For  him  there  is 
that  independence  which  I  count  one  of  the  noblest  elements  of 
character;  for  him  there  is  brave  work  to  do;  for  me  there  is — 
to  twirl  my  thumbs  and  wait  to  see  if  the  next  life  can  possibly  ato7ie 
for  this.  ’  ’ 

Poor  child!  Let  me  hasten  to  deliver  her  from  the  limbo  to 
which  by  some  she  may  have  been  consigned.  She  had  never 
heard  about  a  college  education  and  a  wider  work  with  better  pay 
for  women  who  must  earn  their  bread,  and  those  frightful  words, 
“strong  minded,”  have  never  been  translated  into  her  sweet, 
Italian  tongue. 

In  our  quest  for  illustrations  of  what  chivalry  has  wrought 
beyond  the  seas,  the  most  ancient  and  the  most  poetic  civilizations 
have  yielded  us  their  lessons — let  us  pass  on  to  interrogate  the 
most  luxurious.  We  shall  soon  see  how  differently  they  do  these 
things  in  France.  In  Egypt,  as  we  have  observed,  the  husband 
buys  his  wife;  in  Paris,  by  strange  contradiction,  it  is  the  wife 
who  buys  her  husband,  and  he  knows  his  value,  be  assured!  In 
proof  of  this,  let  me  give  a  conversation  I  chanced  to  have  with  an 
intelligent  Parisian  lady,  who,  starting  out  in  life  without  suffi¬ 
cient  capital,  had  made  no  matrimonial  investment  up  to  the  ripe 
age  of  forty-four. 

“I  am  much  concerned,”  she  said,  “for  my  friend,  Madame 
D.,  who  is  just  now  doing  her  best  to  marry  off  her  daughter;  and 
it  is  high  time,  too,  for  the  girl  is  already  eighteen.  But  it  will 
not  be  an  easy  task,  I  fear,  for  she  has  not  a  tempting  dowry,  and 
but  few  personal  charms.  ’  ’ 


French  Courtship. 


585 


“How  will  they  begin  their  operations?”  I  inquired. 

“Oh,  the  parents  will  say  tout  franchement  (quite  frankly) 
to  their  friends,  ‘Find  me  a  husband  for  my  daughter,’  and  the 
friends  (knowing  that  one  good  turn  deserves  another)  will  beat 
up  for  recruits,  and  will,  perhaps,  find  a  young  man  who  is  deemed 
suitable  and  who  is  willing  ‘to  consider  the  project,’  at  least. 
Then,  as  if  by  chance,  for  we  are  a  people  of  quite  too  much  del¬ 
icacy  to  give  a  business  air  to  proceedings  of  this  nature” — she 
explained  with  true  French  vivacity,  “then,  as  if  by  chance,  the 
parties  meet  in  the  picture  gallery  of  the  Luxembourg,  or  at  an 
open-air  concert  in  the  Champs  Elysees.  The  3roung  people  are 
now  introduced,  while  the  old  ones  look  on  sharply,  to  witness 
the  effect.  After  several  minutes  of  casual  conversation,  they  sep¬ 
arate.  The  young  man  says  to  his  friends,  ‘She  pleases  me,’  or 
‘She  pleases  me  not,’  and  upon  this  turns  the  decision.” 

“But  what  about  the  girl?”  I  pursued  innocently. 

“Oh,  the  girl  ?  She  is  charmingly  submissive.  She  simpers 
and  makes  a  courtesy,  and  says:  ‘As  you  please,  dear  parents; 
you  know  what  is  for  my  good  far  better  than  I’; — so  glad  is  she 
to  marry  upon  any  terms,  it  is  such  a  I'elease.  ’  ’  The  lady  then 
went  on  to  say,  “If  the  girl  has  been  so  fortunate  as  to  ‘please’  the 
young  man,  and  if  his  friends  pronounce  her  dowry  adequate, 
the  necessary  papers  are  made  out;  she  receives  half  a  dozen  calls 
from  her  fiancZ  in  the  presence  of  her  mother;  he  sends  her  a 
huge  bouquet  daily  for  about  three  weeks,  and  so  the  courtship 
merges  into  the  wedding  day.” 

Will  you  believe  it  ?  I  was  stupid  enough  (but  then  it  was 
because  of  the  interest  I  take  in  girls)  after  all  this  to  ask:  “ And 
what  about  love  V  ’  How  she  laughed  !  that  ‘  ‘  lady  of  a  certain 
age  ’  ’  as  the  French  say,  avoiding  harsher  epithets. 

“Dear  Mademoiselle,”  was  her  voluble  reply,  “that  ques¬ 
tion  tells  the  whole  story!  You  are  Americaine ,  you  have  read 
those  pretty  fictions  of  Miss  Dinah  Mulock,  and  you  have  not  lived 
very  long  abroad.” 

Then  .she  explained  to  me  how,  established  in  her  new  home, 
the  young  wife  tastes  her  first  liberty.  Her  husband  goes  his  way 
to  theatre  and  club,  and  she  goes  hers — often  learning  what  love 
is  (since  you  insist),  from  another  than  he.  Her  children  she  puts 


586 


The  German  Girl. 


away  from  her  at  an  early  age;  the  girls  in  a  convent,  the  boys  in 
a  Lycee,  and  when  they  emerge  from  there,  they  repeat  the 
scenes  of  their  parents’  courtship  and  marriage — the  sons,  after 
several  years  of  profligate  life;  the  daughters,  after  a  brief  period 
of  espionage  at  home.  And  so  the  drama  goes  from  age  to  age. 

In  good  old  Fatherland  the  relations  of  men  and  women  are 
hardly  less  irrational  than  in  France.  Young  gentlemen  never 
visit  young  ladies,  and  the  latter  are  rigidly  prohibited  from  all 
social  intercourse  with  them  except  in  presence  of  their  parents 
and  guardians,  and  at  the  public  balls.  How  they  ever  arrive  at 
an  engagement  is  one  of  the  mysteries  that  the  uninitiated  desire 
to  look  into,  but,  strange  to  say,  that  stupendous  crisis  does  at 
last  occur.  Whereupon  the  friends  of  the  parties  are  promptly 
notified,  and  it  is  customary  to  call  upon  the  fortunate  maiden 
who  has  staked  her  all  upon  a  throw,  and  won.  With  the  young 
gentleman—  a  gallant  Knight  of  the  Old  Chivalry!  —  it  is  quite 
a  different  matter.  His  good  fortune  consists  principally  in  the 
amount  of  very  hard  cash  that  rewards  the  sacrifice  of  his  liberty. 
He  has  paid  the  sex  a  great  compliment  in  the  person  of  his 
betrothed,  which  she  will  appropriately  acknowledge  on  her  own 
and  their  behalf.  Not  that  he  means  to  be  exacting — oh,  no!  He 
is  a  down-right  good-natured  fellow,  and  will  require  in  return 
nothing  more  than — unconditional  surrender  to  his  will  from  this 
time  forth  until  death  do  them  part. 

A  friend,  long  resident  in  Berlin,  writes  me  as  follows  : 

‘  ‘  In  Germany  a  girl  exists  so  exclusively  for  marriage,  that 
the  linen  for  her  bridal  trousseau  is  collected  from  the  time 
she  is  born.  At  family  Christmas  festivals  contributions  to  this 
outfit  form  the  prominent  feature  of  the  gifts  to  girls,  and  being 
questioned  they  will  reply  without  the  least  embarrassment :  ‘Oh, 
that’s  for  my  aussteuer — wedding  outfit.’  German  girls  marry 
principally  for  greater  social  freedom.  Those  of  the  upper  classes 
care  less  for  this,  and  are  slower  to  change  their  estate  in  life.” 

In  “  merrie  England  ”  there  is  far  more  freedom,  but  Thack- 
era3^’s  incomparable  satires,  which  denounce  “more  in  sadness 
than  in  anger”  the  customs  that  preside  over  marriages  in  high 
life,  are  as  true  to-day  as  when  he  wrote  them.  To  my  delight 
I  found  Thackeray  reverenced  in  England  as  we  reverence  Bryant, 


The  English  Maiden . 


587 


and  loved  as  we  love  Whittier,  but  to  my  grief  they  told  me  the 
shades  in  his  sad  pictures  are  not  dark  enough.  You  remember 
the  episode  in  that  noblest  of  his  books,  “The  Newcomes,” 
about  the  queenly  Ethel,  wiiose  aristocratic  grandmamma  is  bound 
to  marry  her  to  Lord  Farintosh,  in  spite  of  her  repugnance  and 
her  protestations,  and  how  Ethel  is  made  to  pursue  the  noble 
lord  through  every  lane  of  life,  until  he  lays  his  coronet  before 
her?  You  remember  how  this  compromised  young  woman,  visit¬ 
ing  an  Art  Collection  and  seeing  a  green  card  with  the  word 
“Sold”  attached  to  a  picture  there,  slyly  carries  it  off,  fastens  it 
in  front  of  her  white  muslin  frock,  and  thus  appears  at  dinner. 
When  asked  what  this  queer  fancy  means,  she  makes  the  old 
dowager  a  profound  courtesy,  saying  ‘  ‘  Why,  grandmamma,  I  am 
a  tableau  vivant — living  picture.  ”  “  Whereupon,  ’  ’  says  Thack¬ 
eray,  “the  old  lady,  jumping  up  on  her  crooked  stick  with 
immense  agility,  tore  the  card  out  of  Ethel’s  bosom,  and  very 
likely  would  have  boxed  her  ears,  but  that  just  then  the  Marquis 
of  Farintosh,  himself,  came  in.  ‘  But  after  his  departure  there 
was,  I  promise  you,  a  pretty  row  in  the  building,’  relates  Ethel 
afterward.  ’  ’ 

Going  to  Ffyde  Park  at  the  fashionable  hour,  one  sees  many 
a  poor  Ethel  who  needs  no  green  ticket  on  her  breast  to  tell  the 
story  of  her  barter.  One’s  heart  aches  at  the  thoughts  of  “sweet 
bells  jangled,”  whose  music  might  have  filled  so  man3^  lives  with 
soothing  melody.  For  Hyde  Park  is  the  scene — as  an  English 
gentleman  expresses  it  in  language  that  grates  harshly  on  our 
ears — “  of  the  richest  and  most  shameful  marriage  markets  in  the 
world.”  “Men  stand  by  the  rails,”  he  says,  “criticising  with 
perfect  impartiality  and  equal  freedom,  while  women  drive  slowly 
past,  for  sale  in  marriage ,  with  their  careful  mothers  at  their 
side,  to  reckon  the  value  of  biddings  and  prevent  the  lots  from 
going  oft  below  the  reserved  price.  Instinctively  you  listen  for 
the  auctioneer  with  his  ‘  going — going — gone  !’  ” 

Listen  to  the  moral  drawn  by  the  same  Christian  Englishman 
under  his  frightful  picture: 

* 1  Such  is  the  pitch  at  which  we  have  arrived  by  teaching 
women  that  marriage  is  their  whole  duty 

I  turn  with  grateful  pride  from  these  sad  pictures  of  the  Old 


588 


The  Three-Fold  Tie. 


World,  to  tlie  glowing  colors  of  the  New.  The  difference  between 
them  has  been  often  figured  to  my  fancy  by  that  between  the  mys¬ 
tic,  melancholy  sunsets  behind  Rome’s  sad  Campagna,  and  their 
brilliant  pageantry  as  they  light  up  the  west  from  the  prairies  of 
my  own  Illinois.  I  see  what  is  noblest  in  the  manhood  of  Amer¬ 
ica  rallying  like  St.  George  of  old,  to  fight  the  Dragon,  while 
firm  and  brave  rings  out  their  manly  war  cry,  claiming  “Fair 
play  for  the  weaker”  in  life’s  solemn  fight.  Do  you  wonder  if 
this  contrast  .set  me  thinking  about  the  New  World’s  Chivalry  ? 
or  if,  the  more  I  studied  the  movements  of  this  matchless  age,  the 
more  clearly  I  saw  that  it  can  give  a  Roland  for  an  Oliver,  till 
History  calls  off  its  last  heroic  name  ? 

The  Knights  of  the  Old  Chivalry  gave  woman  the  empty 
husk  of  flattery  ;  those  of  the  New,  offer  instead,  the  wholesome 
kernel  of  just  criticism;  the  Knights  of  the  Old  Chivalry  drank 
our  health  in  flowing  bumpers;  those  of  the  New  invite  us  to  sit 
down  beside  them  at  the  banquet  of  truth. 

“By  my  lady’s  bright  eyes,”  was  the  watch-word  of  the  Old; 
“Fair  play  for  the  weaker,”  is  the  manly  war  cry  of  the  New! 
Talk  about  the  Chivalry  of  Ancient  Days!  Go  to,  ye  medieval 
ages,  and  learn  what  that  word  meaneth!  Behold  the  sunny  after¬ 
noon  of  this  nineteenth  century  of  grace,  wherein  we  have  the 
spectacle,  not  of  lances  tilted  to  defend  the  prestige  of  my  “lady’s 
beauty,  ’  ’  by  swaggering  knights  who  could  not  write  their  names, 
but  of  the  noblest  men  of  the  world’s  foremost  race,  placing  upon  the 
brows  of  those  most  dear  to  them,  above  the  wreath  of  Venus,  the 
helmet  of  Minerva,  and  leading  into  broader  paths  of  knowledge 
and  achievement,  the  fair  divinities  who  preside  over  their  homes. 

No  picture  dawns  upon  me  so  refulgent  as  this  Home  that 
yet  shall  be  the  gift  of  this  Better  Age  to  the  New  America,  in 
which  a  three-fold  tie  shall  bind  the  husband  to  his  wife,  the 
father  to  his  daughter,  the  mother  to  her  son.  Religion  and  af¬ 
fection — as  heretofore  in  all  true  homes — shall  form  two  of  the 
strands  in  this  magic  three-fold  tie  ;  the  third  this  age  is  weaving, 
and  it  is  intellectual  sympathy ,  than  which  no  purer  or  more  en¬ 
during  bond  survived  the  curse  of  Eden  ! 

Whoever  has  not  thought  thus  far,  has  failed  to  fathom  the 
profoundest  significance,  or  to  rise  to  the  height  of  the  noblest 


Woman' s  Martyrology .  589 

inspiration,  which  our  new  ideas  of  woman’s  privilege  infallibly 
involve. 

Those  far-off  lands  of  which  I  told  you,  made  me  very  sad. 
I  had  not  known  what  a  wide  world  it  is,  and  how  full  of  misery. 
Walking  in  the  market-place  of  proud  Berlin,  where  dogs  and 
women  were  fastened  side  by  side  to  carts  laden  with  country 
merchandise  ;  riding  along  unfrequented  Italian  roads  where  I 
encountered  at  one  end  of  the  plow  a  cow  and  a  woman  yoked  to¬ 
gether,  while  at  the  other  a  man  presided,  whip  in  hand  ;  or 
watching  from  the  car  window  as  we  whirled  along  from  Alex¬ 
andria  to  Cairo,  women  building  railway  embankments  under  the 
overseer’s  lash,  how  often  have  tears  blurred  these  grievous  scenes, 
as  I  felt  how  helpless  one  frail  arm  must  be  to  right  such  wrongs. 
Sometimes  it  seemed  sweetly  mysterious  to  me,  but  I  understand 
it  now,  that  always  when  my  heart  was  aching  over  the  measure¬ 
less  woes  of  women  in  almost  every  land  beyond  the  seas,  a  voice 
would  whisper  to  me  :  “  Not  to  these,  but  to  the  dear  girls  of 

your  home  .shall  you  be  sent,  and  some  day  the  broader  channels  of 
their  lives  shall  send  streams  of  healing  even  to  these  far-off  shores.  ’  ’ 
Do  not  think  my  purpose  idle,  in  sketching  sombre  scenes 
from  lands  afar,  or  evoking  in  your  hearing  the  jangle  of  sweet 
bells,  for  the  foundation  of  the  faith  that  is  within  me  rests  on  no 
theory  of  “rights”  or  “wrongs,”  but  is  a  plain  deduction  from 
my  contrast  of  woman’s  lot  in  the  Old  world  and  the  New.  Shall 
we  not  learn  a  lesson  of  unutterable  gratitude  from  this  contrast 
of  our  affluent  lives  with  those  which,  under  sunnier  skies  than 
ours,  and  in  more  genial  climes,  are  yet  so  shadowed  and  dwarfed  ? 
Thinking  of  them  and  us,  how  often  do  I  murmur  to  myself  an 
adaptation  of  the  Laureate’s  noble  lines  that  has  sung  itself  out 
of  my  own  heart  and  brain: 

Ring  out  the  grief  that  saps  the  mind, 

Whose  thralldom  dates  from  days  of  yore ; 

Ring  out  false  laws  from  shore  to  shore, 

Ring  in  redress  to  all  mankind  ! 

Ring  out  the  contest  of  the  twain 

Whom  thou  for  noblest  love  didst  make, 

Ring  in  the  day  that  shall  awake 
Their  life-harp  to  a  sweeter  strain  ! 


Organized  Womanhood. 


59° 


THE  NATIONAL  COUNCIL  OF  WOMEN. 

The  greatest  movement  ever  undertaken  by  women  is  the 
outgrowth  of  that  unparalleled  International  Council  held  in 
Washington,  March  25  to  April  1,  1888,  of  which  Susan  B. 
Anthony  was  the  central  figure.  By  her  invitation  I  made  five 
speeches  there,  and  through  her  generous  partiality  was  chosen 
president  of  this  national  federation  of  women,  when  the  office 
would  naturally  have  gone  to  her.  A  more  unique  and  wonder¬ 
ful  book  has  not  been  published  in  America  than  the  steno¬ 
graphic  story  of  that  Washington  meeting.  Send  90  cents  to 
Woman' s  Journal  Office,  Boston,  for  a  copy  to  read  and  lend. 

The  purpose  of  the  National  Council  is  thus  stated  in  its 
constitution  : 

We,  women  of  the  United  States,  sincerely  believing  that  the  best  good 
of  our  homes  and  nation  will  be  advanced  by  our  own  greater  unity 
of  thought,  sympathy,  and  purpose,  and  that  an  organized  movement  of 
women  will  best  conserve  the  highest  good  of  the  family  and  the  state,  do 
hereby  band  ourselves  together  in  a  confederation  of  workers  committed 
to  the  overthrow  of  all  forms  of  ignorance  and  injustice,  and  to  the  appli¬ 
cation  of  the  golden  rule  to  society,  custom  and  law. 

We  have  just  sent  out  our  first  call  to  the  organized  woman¬ 
hood  of  the  land,  hoping  to  enlist  them  in  this  effort  for  solidarity 
among  women  workers  as  a  preliminary  to  the  universal  solidarity 
sought  by  the  International  Council  of  which  Mrs.  Millicent 
Fawcett,  of  England,  is  the  leader. 

We  should  have  our  representatives  constantly  at  the  state 
capitals  and  ask  unitedly  for  the  things  that  have  heretofore  been 
asked  for  only  by  separate  societies.  Laws  for  the  better  pro¬ 
tection  of  women  ;  for  the  teaching  of  hygiene  in  all  grades  of 
the  public  schools,  with  especial  reference  to  alcoholics  and  other 


A  Woman's  Leagiic.  591 

narcotics  ;  for  compulsory  education  ;  also  for  appropriations  in 
aid  of  industrial  schools  for  girls,  and  other  institutions  to  which 
our  philanthropic  women  are  devoted — we  must  together  strive 
for  these. 

Locally,  a  Woman’s  League  should,  in  the  interest  of  that 
‘  ‘  mothering  ”  which  is  the  central  idea  of  our  new  movement, 
seek  to  secure  for  women  admission  to  all  school  committees, 
library  associations,  and  boards  intrusted  with  the  care  of  defect¬ 
ive,  dependent  and  delinquent  classes ;  all  professional  and 
business  associations ;  all  colleges  and  professional  schools  that 
have  not  yet  set  before  us  an  open  door  of  ingress  ;  and  each  local 
league  should  have  the  power  to  call  in  the  united  influence  of 
its  own  state  league,  or  of  the  National  Council,  if  its  own  influ¬ 
ence  did  not  suffice. 

In  the  development  of  this  movement  I  am  confident  that  it 
will  impart  to  women  such  a  sense  of  strength  and  courage  that 
their  corporate  self-respect  will  so  increase  that  such  theatrical 
bills  as  we  now  see  displayed  will  not  be  permitted  for  an  hour, 
without  our  potent  protest ;  and  the  exhibition  of  women’s  forms 
and  faces  in  the  saloons  and  cigar  stores,  which  women’s  self- 
respect  will  never  let  them  enter,  and  the  disgraceful  literature 
now  for  sale  on  so  many  public  news  stands,  will  not  be  tolerated 
by  the  womanhood  of  any  town  or  city. 

An  “anatomical  museum”  that  I  often  pass,  bears  the 
words,  “Gentlemen  only  admitted.”  Why  do  women  tolerate 
this  flaunting  assumption  that  men  are  expected  to  derive  pleas¬ 
ure  from  beholding  objects  that  they  would  not  for  a  moment 
permit  their  wives  to  see  ?  Some  day  women  will  not,  and  then 
these  base  exhibitions  will  cease,  for  women  will  purify  every 
place  they  enter,  and  they  will  enter  every  place  on  the  round 
earth.  To  develop  this  great  quality  of  corporate,  as  well  as 
individual,  self-respect,  I  believe  no  single  study  would  do  more 
than  that  of  Frances  Power  Cobbe’s  noble  book  on  “  The  Duties 
of  Women.”  It  ought  to  be  in  the  hands  of  every  woman  who 
has  taken  for  her  motto,  “  Heart  within,  and  God  o’erhead,”  and 
surely  it  ought  to  be  in  the  hands  of  every  one  who  has  not  this 
high  aim,  while  I  am  certain  that  every  man  who  lives  would 
be  a  nobler  husband,  son,  and  citizen  of  the  great  world,  if  he 
would  give  this  book  his  thoughtful  study. 


592 


Women  are  Snowflakes. 


The  following  extracts  from  my  addresses  at  the  won¬ 
derful  meeting  in  Washington  will  show  the  trend  of  thought  on 
some  of  the  subjects  presented: 

We  only  wish  to  turn  all  the  bullets  into  printers’  type;  we  only  wish 
the  war  to  be  a  war  of  words,  for  words  are  wings;  they  are  full  of  lightning. 
Every  brain  the  open  furrow,  every  word  the  seed  cast  in,  and  you  have 
humanity  brought  to  a  different  plane;  but  you  can’t  do  it  alone;  you  can’t 
do  it  unless  you  come  along  together;  it  is  easier  to  climb  up  taking  hold 
of  hands. 

Somebody  who  has  studied  these  things  a  great  deal  said  to  me:  “You 
can  tell  a  harmonious  and  organizing  nature,  because  the  involuntary  posi¬ 
tion  of  the  hands  will  be  like  that”  (  folded  together). 

See  a  little,  lonesome,  stray  snowflake  come  down  through  the  air;  it 
falls  and  melts  and  is  no  more.  Now  see  others  come  along  talking  in  that 
noiseless,  gossiping  way  together,  and  as  they  come  down  more  and  more 
they  have  evidently  got  something  on  their  minds.  After  awhile  these  are 
joined  by  others,  and,  their  organized  attack  will  make  a  drift  thirty  feet 
high  that  will  stop  a  fifty-ton  engine. 

Now,  women  are  the  snowflakes.  And  the  organized  attack  is  against 
this  old,  hoary-headed,  materialistic,  conservative  way  of  doing  things. 
And  the  mighty  breeze  that  shall  set  them  flying  is  the  new  sense  of  sister¬ 
hood,  and  it  will  bring  in  all  that  is  good,  and  true  and  pure.  It  has  been 
the  curse  of  humanity  in  the  past  that  half  the  wisdom,  more  than  half  the 
ptirity,  and  more  than  half  the  gentleness  did  not  find  any  organic  expres¬ 
sion.  Now  it  is  getting  expression,  and  we  are  here  not  only  to  see  it  and  sit 
by,  twirling  our  thumbs  and  watching  it  come,  but  we  are  here  to  put  in  all 
our  mighty  force  to  make  it  come.  Each  woman  that  has  just  sat  here 
and  lent  a  kind  attention  has  helped  it.  Each  one  who  has  gone  away  and 
spoken  a  kind  word  has  helped  it.  Each  one  that  has  lifted  an  aspiration 
toward  the  great  Heart  that  holds  the  wrorld  has  helped  it. 

The  highest  power  of  organization  for  women  is  that  it  brings  them  out; 
it  translates  them  from  the  passive  into  the  active  voice;  the  dear,  modest, 
clinging  things  didn’t  think  they  could  do  anything,  and,  lo  and  behold! 
they  found  out  they  could.  They  come  to  you  with  a  quiver  of  the  lip,  and 
look  at  you  so  hopeful  and  expectant,  and  wonder  if  they  could  do  some¬ 
thing;  and  a  year  or  two  after,  you  hear  them  with  a  deep  voice  and  perfect 
equipose  telling  their  dearest  thought  to  a  great  audience,  or  you  see  them 
in  the  silent  charities,  carrying  out  their  noblest  purpose  toward  humanity. 

•X*  -X-  *X“  vc  "X-  -X-  *X*  -X-  -X*  -X-  -X-  -X-  -X- 

I  will  tell  you  how  it  is  with  me:  I  go  like  a  bee  into  the  gardens  of 
thought;  I  love  to  listen  to  all  the  voices,  and  I  go  buzzing  around  under 
the  bonnets  of  the  prettiest  flowers  and  the  most  fragrant,  just  like  this  bee, 
and  when  it  is  a  lovely  life  and  a  sweet  life,  like  the  lives  of  those  who  have 
spoken  to  us  to-day,  it  seems  to  me  I  get  a  lot  of  honey;  but  I  have  a  won- 


OFFICERS  OF  (Permanent)  NATIONAL  COUNCIL  OF  WOMEN 


Saint  or  Politician. 


593 


derful  bee-line  fashion  of  carrying  it  all  home  to  my  own  Methodist  hive. 
I  couldn’t  do  any  other  way.  I  am  made  that  fashion;  it  is  part  of  me.  It 
is  worked  into  the  woof  and  warp  of  my  spirit,  the  result  of  the  sweet  old 
ways  in  which  I  was  brought  up.  I  should  have  to  deny  myself  in  my  in¬ 
most  heart,  if  I  didn’t  believe  what  mother  had  taught  me  at  her  knee,  if 
I  didn’t,  above  all  the  teachings  and  all  the  voices,  reverence  the  voice  that 
calls  to  me  from  the  pages  of  the  Bible;  if  I  didn’t,  above  all  things  and 
always,  in  my  mentality  and  spirituality,  translate  God  into  terms  of  Jesus 
Christ.  I  cannot  rest  except  there.  And  so  I  frankly  tell  you  how  it  is 
with  me  this  sweet  Easter  day.  The  inmost  voice,  deep  down  in  my  heart, 
says:  “Lord  Jesus,  receive  my  spirit!  Receive  it  as  I  sit  here  listening 
to  women  whom  I  love  and  revere  and  honor  for  their  loyalty  to  what 
they  believe  is  the  highest  and  best.  Receive  it  as  I  go  forth  into  the 
crowded  w7ays  of  life  with  so  many  voices  calling  me  on  every  hand.  Re¬ 
ceive  my  spirit!”  It  will  be  the  last  thought  that  this  brain  will  think,  it  will 
be  the  last  quiver  of  this  heart  that  has  ached  and  rejoiced,  “Lord  Jesus, 
receive  my  spirit !  ” 

************* 

I  don’t  know  that  it  will  make  me  stand  any  better  with  the  ladies  of  the 
audience,  and  certainly  it  won’t  with  the  gentlemen,  I  suppose,  but,  honestly, 
I  always  thought  that,  next  to  a  wish  I  had  to  be  a  saint  some  day,  I  really 
would  like  to  be  a  politician. 

Now,  I  was  a  farmer’s  daughter,  and  got  this  idea  of  politics  through 
father’s  and  mother’s  talks  together,  as  much  as  from  the  newspapers.  I 
remember  so  well  sitting  by  and  listening  to  their  talk,  and  mother  was  a 
very  motherly  woman,  and  a  tremendously  potential  politician,  though  I 
don’t  think  she  ever  knew  it,  and  I  only  discovered  it  within  the  last  fourteen 
years.  I  never  knew  quite  what  was  the  matter  with  her,  but  in  these  days  I 
believe  she  was  born  to  be  a  Senator,  and  never  got  there.  *  *  *  Then 

my  brother  came  to  be  twenty-one,  and  we  had  gone  around  the  pastures  and 
prairies  together;  we  had  kept  along  in  our  ideas  and  ambitions;  we  had 
.studied  the  same  books  and  had  the  same  general  purposes.  But  lo  and 
behold!  there  came  a  day  when  there  was  a  separation.  I  saw  that  voting 
made  it,  and  if  seemed  to  me  the  line  was  artificial  and  should  be  broken 
down.  Then  I  said  to  myself:  “My  politics  is  sacred;  there  isn’t  any¬ 
thing  about  it  with  which  a  pure  heart,  serving  its  kind,  wouldn’t  like  to 
have  to  do.  But  it  is  a  kind  of  poor  man  that  went  down  to  Jericho.  Now, 
can’t  we  get  politics  out  of  the  company  of  thieves  into  which  it  has  fallen? 
Cannot  wre  get  it  out  from  among  the  beasts  of  Ephesus  ?  Are  we  going 
to  pass  by  on  the  other  side  or  are  we  going  to  come,  like  the  good  Samar¬ 
itan,  and  to  make  politics  a  home  question,  something  that  women  care  for 
and  are  greatly  interested  in  ?  ' 

If  to  all  this  our  brothers  answer,  “It  is  not  because  you  women  are  inferior 
that  we  don’t  want  you  to  vote,  but  because  you  are  too  good  and  nice  and 
38 


594 


Aunt  Columbia1  s  Kitchen. 


pure  to  come  into  politics,”  then  I  say  to  you:  “  My  friend,  we  don’t  expect 
to  leave  political  affairs  as  we  find  them  ;  not  at  all.  You,  our  brothers,  all 
alone  by  yourselves  and  no  women  with  you,  have  constructed  this  “filthy 
pool”  that  you  talk  about  so  much,  and  that  you  don’t  admire,  and  you  can’t 
make  it  any  worse.  You  know  that  into  the  witch’s  broth  they  pour  all  the  in¬ 
gredients  together.  Now,  you  have  all  the  ingredients  there  are,  except 
women’s  votes.  Turn  them  in;  it  may  be  the  branch  of  sweetness  that  it  needs; 
and  certainly  it  can’t  be  any  worse.”  So  I  want  to  say  to  my  brothers,  that 
we  are  coming  in,  as  we  believe,  just  as  we  should  go  into  a  bachelor’s  hall. 
We  should  take  along  broom  and  dust-brushes  and  dust-pans,  open  the  windows 
and  ventilate  the  place,  and  try  to  have  a  general  “  clarin  ”  out,  and  that  is 
exactly  what  we  want  to  do  in  Old  Aunt  Columbia’s  kitchen.  Brother  Jon¬ 
athan  hasn’t  kept  house  there  in  an  orderly  and  cleanly  manner,  and  if 
ever  a  place  needed  “  clarin  ”  out  we  think  it  is  the  kitchen  of  Uncle  Sam. 
So  we  have  made  up  our  minds  and  you  will  see  us  coming  in,  and  nothing 
on  this  universal  earth  will  keep  us  out  of  it.  It  seems  to  me  just  the  dif¬ 
ference  between  the  smoking-car  and  the  parlor-car;  in  the  smoking-car 
there  are  men  alone,  and  in  the  parlor-car  men  and  women  together.  And 
how  nice  and  wholesome  it  is  in  the  parlor-car;  and  how  everything  but 
wholesome  and  nice  it  is  in  the  smoking-car.  It  seems  to  us  women  that 
every  great  thought  must  be  incarnated,  that  disembodied  principles  and 
disembodied  spirits  fare  about  equally  well  in  this  work-a-day  world;  that 
every  principle  seeks  a  hand  that  can  cast  its  ballot  into  the  urn,  where  a  re¬ 
public  manufactures  its  own  destiny.  And  so  we  believe  that  into  this  magnifi¬ 
cent  scene  we  may  well  enter,  because  the  weapons  are  not  carnal,  but 
spiritual.  We  believe  that  when  coal  in  the  mine  and  not  in  the  grate  will 
warm  you;  when  flour  in  the  barrel  and  not  in  the  loaf  will  feed  you;  when 
wool  on  the  .sheep’s  back,  and  not  woven  into  cloth  will  clothe  you,  then 
public  sentiment  that  is  lying  around  loose  and  not  gathered  up  through  the 
electric  battery  of  the  ballot-box,  or  sent  tingling  along  the  wires  of  law,  will 
change  the  ways  of  men. 

God  made  woman  with  her  faculties,  her  traits,  her  way  of  looking  at 
all  great  questions  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  and  he  made  her  to  be  a 
helpmeet  for  man,  and  he  made  man  to  be  a  helpmeet  for  her;  he  made 
them  to  stand  side  by  side,  sun-crowned;  he  made  them  to  stand  in  a 
republic,  as  I  believe,  bearing  equally  its  magnificent  burdens.  I  like  to 
see  how  men  are  grandly  meeting  the  uprising  of  womanhood.  I  recog¬ 
nize,  and  all  of  us  here  do,  that  it  was  our  big  brother  man  who  said, 
Come  and  sit  down  beside  me  at  the  banquet  of  Minerva.  I  recognize,  and 
so  do  we  all,  that  it  was  a  man  that  encouraged  us  when  we  made  our  first 
ventures;  that  it  is  not  with  any  special  purpose  to  keep  us  down  that  men 
do  not  let  us  enter  into  politics,  but  that  they  are  sort  of  considering  it; 
they  are  waiting  for  us  to  be  a  little  more  anxious.  They  are  waiting  them¬ 
selves  to  get  wonted  to  the  notion,  and  they  are  growing  rapidly.  The 
time  is  not  distant,  and  every  man  knows  it  who  hears  me; 


The  Widening  Horizon .  595 

But  I  do  not  forget  that  if  we  come,  you  and  you  only  must  open  the 
door ! 

************* 

You  are  told  that  public  opinion  seems  to  demand  the  saloon,  and  as  a 
White-Ribboner  I  ask,  “  Whose  public  opinion  ?  That  of  the  home  ?  ”  “  Oh, 
no  ;  the  home  is  solidly  against  it.”  “Whose  public  opinion  ?  That  of  the 
church?”  “Oh,  no;  two-thirds  of  the  church  is  made  up  of  women.” 
“Whose  public  opinion  ?  ”  That  of  men  who  drink  and  men  who  sell,  and 
men  in  professional,  business  and  political  life,  who  don’t  like  to  get  the  ill- 
will  of  those  who  drink  and  sell.  Thus,  as  the  outcome  of  deliberate  choice, 
based  upon  motives  wholly  selfish,  these  men  have  saddled  the  liquor  traffic 
on  this  nation.  But  the  nation  has  great  guns  of  power  pointing  sublimely 
up  into  vacancy.  We  want  to  bring  them  to  the  level  of  our  use,  and  send 
their  shot  banging  into  the  eyes  of  the  foe.  It  is  this  purpose  of  arming 
women  with  the  ballot  that  makes  me  so  perfectly  at  home  on  a  platform 
like  the  present.  It  is  this  which  brings  me  to  do  homage  to  these  grand 
pioneers,  just  as  you  do,  and  no  one  can  pay  them  too  much  gratitude  and 
honor. 

Let  us  be  grateful  that  our  horizon  is  widening.  We  women  have 
learned  to  reason  from  effect  to  cause.  It  is  considered  a  fine  sign  of  a 
thinker  to  be  able  to  reason  from  cause  to  effect.  But  we,  in  fourteen 
years’  march,  have  learned  to  go  from  the  drunkard  in  the  gutter,  who  was 
the  object  lesson  we  first  saw,  back  to  the  children,  as  you  will  hear 
to-night ;  back  to  the  idea  of  preventive,  educational,  evangelistic,  social, 
and  legal  work  for  temperance  ;  back  to  the  basis  of  the  saloon  itself.  We 
have  found  that  the  liquor  traffic  is  joined  hand  in  hand  with  the  very 
sources  of  the  National  Government.  And  we  have  come  to  the  place 
where  we  want  prohibition,  first,  last,  and  all  the  time.  While  the  brewer 
talks  about  his  “vested  interests,”  I  lend  my  voice  to  the  motherhood  of 
the  nation  that  has  gone  down  into  the  valley  of  unutterable  pain  and  in  the 
shadow  of  death,  with  the  dews  of  eternity  upon  the  mother’s  brow,  given 
birth  and  being  to  the  sons  who  are  the  “vested  interests”  of  America’s 
homes. 

We  offset  the  demand  of  the  brewer  and  distiller,  that  you  shall  protect 
their  ill-gotten  gains,  with  the  thought  of  these  most  sacred  treasures,  dear 
to  the  hearts  that  you,  our  brothers,  honor — dear  to  the  hearts  that  you  love 
best.  I  bring  to  you  this  thought  to-night,  that  you  shall  vote  to  represent 
us,  and  hasten  the  time  when  we  can  represent  ourselves. 

I  believe  that  we  are  going  out  into  this  work,  being  schooled  and 
inspired  for  greater  things  than  we  have  dreamed,  and  that  the  esprit  de 
corps  of  women  will  prove  the  grandest  sisterhood  the  world  has  ever 
known.  As  I  have  seen  the  love  and  kindness  and  good-will  of  women 
who  differed  so  widely  from  us  politically*  and  religiously,  and  yet  have 
found  away  down  in  the  depths  of  their  hearts  the  utmost  love  and  affec¬ 
tion,  I  have  said,  what  kind  of  a  world  will  this  be  when  all  women  are  as 
fond  of  each  other  as  we  strong-minded  women  are  ? 


596 


Views  with  a  Capital  V. 


So,  friends,  as  I  think  of  the  new  America,  the  good  time  coming,  when 
He  who  is  the  best  friend  that  women  ever  knew,  the  Christ  of  God,  shall 
rule  in  our  hearts  and  lives,  not  outwardly,  but  by  His  Spirit— as  I  think  of 
it  all  I  say,  to  myself,  I  am  glad  I  am  alive,  I  am  glad  I  was  not  alive  till 
this  last  part  of  the  nineteenth  century,  I  am  glad  I  shall  be  alive  when  the 
golden  hinges  turn  and  roll  wide  open  the  door  of  the  twentieth  century 
that  shall  let  the  women  in  ;  when  this  big-hearted  brotherhood  of  broad- 
shouldered  men  who  have  made  it  possible  for  us  to  have  such  a  council  as 
this,  who  listen  to  us  and  are  more  pleased  with  us  than  we  are  with  our¬ 
selves — and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal — and  who,  if  we  write  a  book  that  is 
interesting,  or  a  song,  or  make  a  speech,  are  sure  to  say,  “  That  is  good  ;  go 
on,  and  do  better  next  time ;  we  will  buy  your  books  and  listen  to  your 
speeches,” — when  these  men  shall  see  that  it  was  not  to  the  harm  of  the 
home,  but  for  its  good,  that  we  were  working  for  temperance  and  for  the 
ballot. 

Home  is  the  citadel  of  everything  that  is  good  and  pure  on  earth  ; 
nothing  must  enter  there  to  defile,  neither  anything  which  loveth  or  maketli 
a  lie.  And  it  shall  be  found  that  all  society  needed  to  make  it  altogether 
homelike  was  the  home-folks  ;  that  all  government  needed  to  make  it  alto¬ 
gether  pure  from  the  fumes  of  tobacco  and  the  debasing  effects  of  strong 
drink,  was  the  home-folks  ;  that  wherever  you  put  a  woman  who  has  the 
atmosphere  of  home  about  her,  she  brings  in  the  good  time  of  pleasant  and 
friendly  relationship  and  points  w7ith  the  finger  of  hope  and  the  e)7e  of  faith 
always  to  something  better — always  it  is  better  farther  on.  As  I 'look 
around  and  see  the  heavy  cloud  of  apathy  under  which  so  many  still  are 
stifled,  who  take  no  interest  in  these  things,  I  just  think  they  do  not  half 
mean  the  hard  w7ords  that  they  sometimes  speak  to  us,  or  they  wouldn't  if 
they  knew ;  and,  after  awhile,  they  will  have  the  same  views  I  have,  spell 
them  with  a  capital  V,  and  all  be  harmonious,  like  Barnum’s  happy  family, 
a  splendid  menagerie  of  the  whole  human  race  —  clear-eyed,  kind  and 
victorious  ! 


“  Good  Will  to  Men.” 


597 


MY  OPINION  OF  MEN. 

“I’ve  heard  of  unkind  words,  kind  deeds 
With  deeds  unkind  returning ; 

Alas  !  the  gratitude  of  men 

Has  often er  left  me  mourning.’’ 

Men  know  where  their  true  interests  lie,  and  women  whom 
men  love  and  trust  and  honor  are  always  motherly  at  heart. 

y 

If  there  is  a  spectacle  more  odious  and  distasteful  than  a  man 
who  hates  women,  it  is  a  woman  who  hates  men.  If  I  am  glad 
of  anything  it  is  that,  while  I  have  my  playful  quips  and  passing 
sallies  anent  them  in  my  own  inner  home  circle,  when  some  pass¬ 
ing  injustice  of  the  old  regime  quickens  my  pulses,  the  life-long 
tenor  of  my  pen  and  voice  and  work  has  been  not  more  for 
“Peace  on  earth”  than  for  “Good  will  to  men.”  This  frank 
utterance  may  surely  be  permitted  to  one  now  entered  on  her 
fiftieth  year,  and  who  thanks  God  with  unspeakable  tender¬ 
ness  for  all  the  pleasant  land  on  which  she  can  look  back  from 
the  high  chronologic  vantage-ground  she  has  attained.  If  this 
had  not  been  so,  surely  the  royal  wives  and  mothers  who  in  all 
these  working  years  have  rallied  around  me,  would  rightfully 
have  refused  my  leadership. 

From  tips  time  on,  the  world  will  have  in  it  no  active,  vital 
force  so  strong  for  its  uplifting  as  its  organized  mother-hearts.  I 
do  not  say  all  mothers,  because  all  women  who  are  technically 
mothers  are  not  mother-hearted,  while  many  a  woman  is  so,  from 
whom  the  criss-cross  currents’  of  the  world  have  withheld  her 
holiest  crown. 

In  my  own  quiet  refuge  at  Evanston,  w7here  w7e  are  wont 
to  talk  of  these  things,  I  once  said  to  Susan  B.  Anthony,  that 
noblest  Roman  of  them  all : 


598 


Mother-hearted  Women. 


“Bravely  as  you  have  trodden  it,  and  glorious  as  has  been 
your  via  solitaria,  have  you  not  always  felt  a  sense  of  loss  ?  *  ’ 

She  answered  in  the  gentle,  thoughtful  voice  that  we  all 
love  : 

'  ‘  Could  I  be  really  the  woman  that  I  am  and  fail  to  feel  that 
under  happier  conditions  I  might  have  known  a  more  sacred  com¬ 
panionship  than  has  ever  come  to  me,  and  that  this  companion 
could  not  have  been  a  woman  ?  ’  ’ 

But  that  she  also  felt  God’s  call,  under  the  unhappy  con¬ 
ditions  that  exist,  to  go  her  own  victorious  way  alone,  is  proved 
by  her  reply  to  a  good  man  who  once  said  to  her : 

“  Miss  Anthony,  with  your  great  head  and  heart,  you,  of  all 
women  I  have  met,  ought  to  have  been  a  wife  and  mother.” 

Our  noble  pioneer  answered  him  after  this  fashion  : 

“  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  what  I  take  to  be  the  highest  compli¬ 
ment,  but  sweeter  even  than  to  have  had  the  joy  of  caring  for 
children  of  my  own  has  it  been  to  me  to  help  bring  about  a  better 
state  of  things  for  mothers  generally,  so  that  their  unborn  little 
ones  could  not  be  willed  away  from  them.” 

And  now,  concerning  my  opinion  of  men,  let  me  give  a  few 
scenes  in  which  they  have  been  chief  actors  and  I  “  a  chiel  amang 
ye  takin’  notes  ”: 

I  was  coming  from  New  Orleans  alone  after  attending  the 
Louisiana  W.  C.  T.  U.  Convention  in  that  city  in  1881.  Mrs. 
Judge  Merrick,  my  generous  hostess,  had  provided  me  with  such 
a  lunch  as  rarely  falls  to  mortal  lot.  As  usual,  I  had  a  section 
which  I  hardly  left  during  the  trip,  and  as  has  happened  several 
times  in  my  experience,  I  was  the  only  lady  in  the  car.  The 
porter  provided  me  with  a  table  and  I  had  open  my  well-worn 
traveling  bag,  “  Old  Faithful,”  and  was  writing  letters  and 
articles  uninterruptedly.  By  some  mischance,  I  do  not  now  re¬ 
member  what,  we  were  side-tracked  twelve  hours  and  no  food 
could  be  had.  In  traveling,  my  constant  preoccupation  makes 
me  peculiarly  uncommunicative.  I  have  gone  from  Chicago  to 
Boston  without  speaking  to  any  one  except  the  porter,  indeed 
almost  without  seeing  any  one.  But  as  the  day  wore  on  and  our 
car  stood  there  motionless,  my  thoughts  went  out  to  those  stal¬ 
wart  men  about  me,  those  hungry  travelers.  After  much  reflec¬ 
tion  and  some  quiet  observation,  I  selected  a  man  in  whom  by 


Brother -hearted  Men. 


599 


intuition  I  believed,  and  catching  his  eye,  beckoned  him  to  come 
to  my  side.  I  had  spread  out  my  tempting  lunch  in  all  its 
fascinating  forms  and  colors  and  I  said,  “Will  you  do  me  the 
favor  to  divide  this  among  my  fellow- travelers  ?  ’  ’  Those  words 
were  a  magic  spell  !  The  glow  of  gratitude  upon  his  face  was 
worth  doing  without  one’s  meals  twenty-four  hours  to  enjoy. 
The  grace  and  courtesy  with  which  he  acknowledged  my 
thoughtfulness,  the  gathered  group  of  men  who  came  to  take 
away  a  fragment  of  the  feast,  the  doffing  of  hats,  and  charm  of 
manner  were  worthy  of  any  drawing-room.  Poor  fellows  !  they 
had  been  trying  to  get  themselves  some  coffee  and  had  gone  to 
the  engine  for  hot  water.  I  had  sugar  and  cream,  which  they 
had  not,  but  my  coffee  was  cold  and  such  an  ado  as  they  made  to 
see  that  it  was  heated,  and  such  solicitude  lest  I  should  not 
keep  refreshments  enough  for  my  own  needs  ! 

My  chosen  spokesman  said,  ‘  ‘  I  am  from  Illinois  and  my 
wife  belongs  to  the  W.  C.  T.  U.”  Another  echoed,  “  I  am  from 
Massachusetts  ;  have  heard  you  speak  in  my  own  town,”  and  a 
third  chimed  in,  “I  was  in  your  audience  two  nights  ago  at  New 
Orleans.  ’  ’  Of  course  I  think  well  of  those  men  ;  the  little  inci¬ 
dent  did  me  good  for  many  a  day  and  I  rejoice  to  hope  that  those 
men  think  well  of  me  ! 

Early  in  my  work  it  became  necessary  for  me  to  go  across  the 
country  in  Michigan  on  a  freight  train,  the  trip  involving  a  whole 
day’s  ride  in  a  caboose.  Although  my  secretary  is  almost  always 
with  me,  on  this  occasion  she  was  not.  I  seated  myself  opposite 
the  stove  on  a  rough  bench,  and  began  reading  and  writing,  as  is 
my  custom,  now  so  confirmed  that  while  hours  and  days  flit 
by  I  do  not  find  travel  wearisome,  and  often  think  I  have  but 
fairly  begun  work  when  I  find  a  half  day  is  gone  and  we  are  at 
the  lunch  station.  But  on  this  occasion  there  slowly  stole  over 
my  senses  a  dull  perception  of  something  strange,  and  then  of 
something  most  unpleasant,  and  then  of  something  deadly.  It 
was  the  foul  emanations  from  the  pipes  and  mouths  of  six  oy  seven 
freight  train  “hands,”  sitting  at  a  short  distance  from  me.  I 
hurriedly  rose,  went  out  of  the  rear  door  and  stood  in  the  cold 
and  snow  upon  the  platform,  filled  my  mouth  with  snow  and 
tried  in  every  way  to  take  my  mind  off  from  the  intolerable 
misery  of  the  situation.  But  I  could  not  long  remain  outside, 


6oo 


On  a  Freight  Train. 


the  cold  was  too  extreme.  I  re-entered  the  car  and  was  soon 
enveloped  in  a  tobacco  cloud,  the  nausea  becoming  so  violent 
that  a  manifest  exhibition  thereof  in  a  form  recalling  “  Neptune’s 
tribute,”  soon  occurred.  I  suppose  my  face  was  very  white,  for 
the  men  all  came  toward  me  in  consternation,  cursing  at  one 
another  and  each  separately  cursing  himself  with  oaths,  not 
loud  but  deep.  They  flung  open  the  doors,  they  established 
me  on  the  long  wooden  settle,  bringing  their  coats  and  fitting 
•  the  place  up  for  me,  folding  one  or  two  for  a  pillow,  which  they 
placed  under  my  head  with  as  much  gentleness  as  my  own  mother 
could  have  done,  asking  my  pardon  over  and  over  again,  saying, 

‘  ‘  Our  hides  are  so  rough  and  so  thick  we  did  not  have  sense 
enough  to  know  how  this  smoke  would  strike  a  lady.”  Indeed, 
their  penitence  was  of  such  a  poignant  type  that  in  my  efforts  to 
assuage  it  I  quite  forgot  my  sad  condition.  They  brought  me 
some  nice  apples,  and  after  a  little  I  was  able  to  resume  my 
work.  But  there  was  no  more  tobacco  smoke  about  that  car, 
and  there  was  very  earnest  consideration  for  my  comfort,  they 
often  asking  me  if  the  ventilation  was  right,  and  if  the  fire  was 
warm  enough.  These  men  always  remain  in  my  mind  as  one  more 
proof  of  what  I  steadfastly  believe,  that  if  there  are  remainders  of 
evil  there  are  also  great,  noble  conceptions  of  good  in  every 
human  breast.  And  of  these  men,  in  spite  of  their  tobacco  smoke, 
I  can  but  have  a  good  opinion. 

In  1884,  just  after  the  presidential  election,  when  politics 
ran  high,  I  received  a  letter  postmarked - ,  Wisconsin,  guilt¬ 

less  of  punctuation,  and  as  to  its  orthography,  gone  quite  astray. 
Opening  it  curiously,  and  finding  it  voluminous,  I  read  in  the 
initial  lines  the  gist  of  the  communication.  It  was  from  Mike, 
our  man-of-all-work  on  the  farm,  one  of  the  best-hearted  and 
brightest  of  Irishmen,  whom  it  had  been  our  good  fortune  to 
indoctrinate  into  the  mysteries  of  reading,  writing,  and,  perhaps, 
a  little  arithmetic.  He  had  evidently  retained  a  kindly  remem¬ 
brance,  for  what  I  read  was  to  this  purpose : 

Dear  Miss  —  It  is  long  since  I  seen  you  and  you  will  be  glad  to  hear 
that  now  I  am  a  farmer  mesilf  and  not  working  out.  I  have  three  sons,  one 
studying  at  the  Wisconsin  University,  another  at  a  Catholic  school  in  Mil¬ 
waukee,  and  a  third  is  minded  to  be  a  lawyer.  We  are  all  Dimocrats  but  I 
have  read  in  the  papers  that  St.  John  and  Daniel  were  your  candidates,  and 


A  Saloon-keeper' s  Son.  601 

I  said  to  my  boys,  ‘‘That  lady  and  her  folks  was  good  to  me  when  I  was 
a  lonesome  broth  of  a  boy  just  over  from  the  Old  Country,  and  now  the  lady 
has  n’t  a  vote  to  bless  herself  with,  but  we  can  put  in  four  and  let  ’em  all 
count  on  her  side.”  So  I  and  me  boys  went  to  the  poles  and  did  just  that, 
and  I  thought  I’d  wright  and  tell  ye 

With  respect, 

Mike  Carey. 

Of  course,  a  letter  written  after  this  manner  helped  to  give 
me  a  good  opinion  of  men. 

In  Scranton,  Pa.,  I  spoke  in  the  Opera  House  one  Sunday 
evening  and  at  the  close  went  home  particularly  wearied,  for  to 
hold  steady  a  large  audience  and  a  six-horse  team  are,  perhaps, 
somewhat  analogous  mental  proceedings.  Going  at  once  to  my 
room,  as  is  my  invariable  custom,  with  the  statement  to  my 
friends  that  I  owe  it  to  the  next  audience  to  do  so,  I  was,  as  I 
hoped,  to  be  out  of  sight  and  hearing  until  eight  o’clock  next 
morning,  when  a  hesitating  rap  on  the  door  recalled  me  to  my 
duty,  and  my  hostess  said,  “I  was  very  sorry  to  come  after 
you,  but  a  young  man  in  the  parlor  insists  that  he  has  something 
you  must  hear.”  So  preparing  myself  I  went  down  to  see  him, 
lifting  up  my  heart  for  patience,  for  I  find  no  other  talisman  but 
prayer  suffices  to  hold  a  temper  naturally  so  quick  as  mine  under 
control.  A  young  fellow  rose  as  I  entered,  and  said,  “Perhaps 
you  think  all  the  people  who  sell  liquor  are  opposed  to  you,  but 
I  came  to  tell  you  that  they  are  not  by  any  means.  Probably 
one  reason  is  you  don’t  abuse  that  class,  but  you  admit,  what 
everybody  knows  to  be  true,  that  they  are  by  no  means  alone  re¬ 
sponsible  for  all  the  mischief  they  have  caused.  If  you  had  not 
said  that,  I  should  not  be  here  to-night,  for  I  am  a  saloon-keeper’s 
son.  I  wanted  you  to  know  that  my  mother  has  always  been 
bitterly  opposed  to  father’s  business,  and  I  have  refused  to  engage 
in  it  and  am  learning  the  printer’s  trade,  and  hope  to  become  a 
successful  man  in  the  true  sense  of  that  term  and  a  reputable  cit¬ 
izen.  ’  ’  I  was  delighted  with  his  words,  and  his  honest,  kindly 
face.  “Why  does  your  father  go  on  selling?  ”  was  my  natural 
question.  “  Not  because  he  likes  the  business,  but  he  knows  no 
other.  It  is  an  easy  way  to  make  a  living  and  all  he  has  in  the 
world  is  invested  in  his  saloon.”  “Have  you  sisters?”  I  in¬ 
quired.  “Yes,  two  of  the  nicest  girls  you  can  find  anywhere.” 
“What  do  they  think  about  your  father’s  way  of  getting  a  liv- 


602  Stories  of  a  D.  D.  and  a  Capitalist. 

ing?”  I  asked.  “They  are  grieved  to  the  heart  about  it,  just 
as  mother  is.  They  are  never  received  in  the  kind  of  society 
where  they  naturally  belong,  and  of  course  it  embitters  their 
lives.  In  fact,  I  assure  you  it  is  not  pleasant  to  be  a  saloon¬ 
keeper’s  wife,  daughter  orson  in  these  days.  It  puts  a  ban  upon 
us  and  hard  as  it  is  to  bear,  I  thought  I  ought  to  come  and 
tell  you  for  your  encouragement.  That’s  all.”  He  reached  out 
an  honest  hand  to  me,  said  “  God  bless  you,”  and  was  gone. 
Of  course  this  incident  was  calculated  to  make  me  think  well 
of  men. 

I  had  been  invited  to  speak  in  the  Central  Congregational 
Church,  Boston,  where  for  many  years  Rev.  Dr.  Nehemiah  Adams 
had  preached,  he  who  was  known  in  his  prime  as  the  Washing¬ 
ton  Irving  of  the  American  pulpit.  But  word  had  come  to  me 
that  Sarah  Smiley  had  at  one  time  spoken  in  that  same  pulpit, 
when  the  good  doctor  was  absent  on  a  trip,  and  that  he  was  so 
shocked  to  think  that  a  woman  had  trodden  its  sacred  planks 
and  precincts  that,  not  being  in  good  health,  he  fell  into  a  spasm. 
I  therefore  sent  word  to  him  that  I  would  on  no  account  speak  if 
it  would  cause  him  discomfort.  But  the  years  had  come  and 
gone  since  then,  “  the  ripe,  round,  mellow  years,”  as  Gail 
Hamilton  has  called  them,  and  the  good  doctor  sent  me  this 
message  :  “  Go  on,  my  child,  speak  as  you  will,  I  shall  be  glad 

to  have  you  do  so,  and  I  hereby  send  you  my  benediction.” 

I  thought  well  of  that  man,  beyond  a  doubt ! 

In  1875,  when  without  salary  I  was  serving  the  National 
W.  C.  T.  U.  as  its  corresponding  secretary,  Mrs.  Wittenmeyer, 
knowing  iny  embarrassment,  mentioned  to  Eliphalet  Remington, 
of  the  well-known  firm  of  Remington  Bros.,  that  she  would  be 
very  glad  to  have  him  give  me  the  encouragement  of  some  finan¬ 
cial  aid.  Forthwith  there  came  a  beautiful  letter,  full  of  the 
most  brotherly  sympathy,  and  inclosing  a  check  for  five  hundred 
with  the  modest  remark  that  he  hoped  she  would  pardon  him  for 
sending  so  little,  as  the  calls  were  just  then  more  numerous  than 
usual  ! 

This  noble  man  is  the  founder  of  the  New  York  Witness ,  a 
fact  not  generally  known,  perhaps.  He  had  seen  the  Canada 
Witness  and  been  impressed  with  its  value  as  a  promoter  of 
morality  and  of  our  Christian  faith.  So  without  taking  counsel 


The  Savage  World  Is  under  Foot.  603 

other  than  of  his  own  keen  conscience,  he  went  to  Montreal  and 
induced  the  good  and  great  John  Dougall,  editor  of  the  Witness , 
to  come  to  New  York  City,  assuring  him  of  sufficient  help  to 
establish  a  paper  just  as  able  as  the  one  he  w7as  then  editing. 
This  generation  has  hardly  been  fed  from  purer  springs  than 
those  of  the  two  papers — the  Montreal  Witness,  and  its  comrade 
namesake  in  New  York. 

My  acquaintance  with  Eliphalet  Remington,  not  alone 
because  he  gave  me  money  when  I  needed  it,  but  because  he 
belongs  to  the  nobility  of  character,  helped  me  to  a  noble  esti¬ 
mate  of  men.  So  did  my  father  and  my  brother — one,  the  soul 
of  uprightness,  the  other,  of  geniality ;  so  do  the  hundreds  of  my 
Christian  brothers  in  Evanston  where  I  have  lived  these  thirty 
years,  and  so  do  uncounted  thousands  in  the  great  and  kindly 
continent  that  I  have  traversed,  who  have  shown  true  magnan¬ 
imity  of  soul  toward  modern  movements  among  women,  and  who 
are  White  Cross  heroes  illustrating  the  last  beatitude  of  man, 
as  man  is  yet  to  become,  that  high  and  holy  virtue — chastity. 
Nothing  to-day  makes  woman  so  regnant  over  the  thoughts  and 
imaginations  of  men  as  this  great  quality.  But  it  took  centuries 
for  Christianity  to  work  it  into  the  warp  and  woof  of  her  charac¬ 
ter,  and  Hebrew  women,  as  a  class,  are  foremost  in  its  illustration, 
and  have  always  been. 

At  first,  courage  was  the  greatest  virtue  of  man  ;  he  must 
smite  the  beast  of  the  field  and, ride  forth  to  the  wars  ;  he  must 
subdue  the  savage  earth,  while  woman,  the  fountain  at  which 
life  was  to  be  replenished,  must  be  kept  pure,  else  the  race  would 
perish  in  the  long  lesson  and  fierce  battle  of  its  uplift  and  devel¬ 
opment.  But  now  the  savage  world  is  under  foot,  and  man  lifts 
his  strong  hand  up  toward  woman,  who  stands  above  him  on  the 
hard-won  heights  of  purity  that  she  may  lead  him  upward  into 
freedom  from  the  drink  dominion  and  the  tobacco  habit,  and  that 
he  may  learn  that  highest  of  all  human  dignities — a  chastity  as 
steadfast  as  her  own.  Meanwhile,  she  must  learn  of  him  that 
noble,  masterly  grace,  physical  courage,  and  that  other  manly 

virtue,  intellectual  hardihood,  while  she  imparts  to  him  more 

• 

of  her  own  courage  of  conviction.  Into  what  mutual  greatness 
they  shall  }^et  grow  !  We  have  never  seen  the  royal  men  and 
women  who  are  to  illustrate  God’s  ideal  when  He  set  apart  a 


6od 


Man  in  the  Home. 


peculiar  people  and  taught  them  first  of  all  that  letter  in  His 
alphabet  of  centuries  that  meant  one  Supreme  Spirit  rather  than 
many  monstrous  materialistic  objects  of  worship  ;  then  followed 
up  this  great  lesson  with  others,  all  of  which  grew  out  of  it.  The 
old  time  exclusiveness  of  the  Jews  is  not  in  harmony  with  Chris¬ 
tianity,  but  it  had  to  be  to  make  them  conservators  of  that  mono¬ 
theistic  religion  which  was  to  lift  future  generations  up  into  the 
light,  and  it  had  to  be  to  conserve  in  savage  ages  the-  purity 
of  woman.  The  same  is  true  of  many  other  things  hard  to  be 
understood  —  and  only  a  part  of  which  is  dimly  apprehended 
by  us. 

The  only  wise  way  is  for  us  to  declare,  “  I  will  wait ;  what 
God  does  I  know  not  now,  but  I  shall  know  hereafter ;  he  has 
promised  this,  and  it  must  be  that  faith  is  to  be  the  final 
beatitude  of  character,  or  he  would  not  require  its  exercise. 
Nay.  He  does  not  arbitrarily  require  it,  but  my  present 
infancy  of  being  involves  it  as  a  part  of  the  nature  of 
things.” 

Mr.  Moody  says,  “I  might  as  well  try  to  impart  my  plans 
to  a  fly,  as  for  my  Heavenly  Father  to  impart  His  to  me.”  L,et 
us,  then, 

“Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 

Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait.  ’  ’ 

MAN  IN  THE  HOME. 

Home  has  already  done  more  for  man  than  for  any  other 
member  of  its  favored  constituency.  It  is  his  special  humanizer  ; 
the  garden  where  his  choicest  virtues  grow.  Man’s  heart  is  lone¬ 
some  often  and  the  feeling  does  him  honor,  for  his  lonesome¬ 
ness  is  always  for  the  home  that  was,  but  is  not,  or  else  that  is 
not,  but  ought  to  be  or  to  have  been. 

He  sits  alone,  when'  he  knows  that  it  was  in  his  power  to 
have  sat  beside  his  other,  gentler  self  in  the  calm  content  of  a 
completed  life.  He  warms  himself  beside  other  men’s  hearth¬ 
stones  when  he  knows  that  for  him  one  might  have  glowed,  a 
guiding  light,  through  all  the  darksome  years.  He  hears  the 
gleeful  shout  of  boyhood  and  knows  that  the  tenderness  of  a 
father’s  love  might  have  rejoiced  and  purified  his  breast.  In  this 


“ Home  is  Man  and  Woman  Added  to  a  House  A  605 

sorrowful  period  of  his  existence  Bayard  Taylor  uttered  what 
most  men’s  pride  would  have  left  unexpressed  : 

“  I  look  upon  the  stormy  wild, 

I  have  no  wife,  I  have  no  child  ; 

For  me  there  gleams  no  household  hearth, 

I’ve  none  to  love  me  on  the  earth.” 

Never  has  woman  bemoaned  the  fact  that  she,  too,  had 
missed  life’s  crowning  jo3r,  in  sadder  language  than  man’s  strong 
hand  has  penned,  with  a  stormy  and  sorrowful  heart  behind  the 
words.  If  his  wounds  have  seemed  sooner  to  heal,  it  was  be¬ 
cause  his  life  was  fuller  of  distractions.  If  he  sought  less  sedu¬ 
lously  to  found  a  home,  it  was  because  there  were  so  many  other 
things  for  him  to  do  outside  of  that  —  even  as  for  her  there  is 
now  so  much  else  to  do  and  will  be  from  this  time  forth. 

Indeed,  in  the  present  transition  period,  when  woman, 
deprived  of  her  earlier  interests  and  occupations,  and  not  yet 
adjusted  to  her  new  opportunities,  is  found  in  an  anomalous 
position,  it  may  be  questioned  if  man  does  not  love  home  even 
better  than  his  partner.  How  many  women  are  content  to  vege¬ 
tate  in  a  boarding-house  because  they  can  support  more  “  style  ” 
and  avoid  more  care  than  they  could  in  a  home  !  How  many 
women  who  are  idle  all  day  long,  will  urge  their  husbands  out 
to  the  theater  or  card  party  at  night  wdien  the  weary  benedicts 
would  fain  toast  their  feet  on  the  fender  and  enjoy  some  book 
or  magazine  instead  !  How  many  women  leave  their  minds 
untilled  and  bring  no  wit  or  brightness,  no  fresh  thought  or 
noble  impulse  into  the  evening’s  converse,  because  they  are  worn 
out  with  shopping,  or  a  daily  round  of  calls  and  other  fashion¬ 
able  occupations  ! 

The  charm  of  any  home  is  its  individuality.  Coleridge  said 
that  Art  is  man  added  to  Nature.  In  like  manner  home  is  man 
and  woman  added  to  a  hou.se.  If  it  is  to  be  really  a  home,  it  must 
be  a  mirror  repeating  their  united  thought,  sentiment,  purpose  and 
taste.  How  much  Whittier  tells  in  that  one  most  poetic  phrase 
where  he  speaks  of  his  home,  “  No  step  is  on  the  conscious 
floor.”  That  is  it ;  a  home,  as  contradistinguished  from  a  house 
or  an  upholstered  model,  is  a  place  conscious  of  wise,  benignant 
personality  ;  instinct  with  lives  that  are  noble  and  beloved  ;  dif¬ 
ferentiated  as  thoroughly  from  other  homes  as  its  founders  are 


606  Married  Men  the  Highest  Type. 

dissimilar  in  character,  education,  and  inmost  intent  from  other 
people. 

To  such  a  home  in  the  evolution  of  our  time,  the  bass  voice 
will  bring  a  tone  as  true,  as  sweet,  as  needful  as  the  soprano  ; 
and  upon  it  man’s  individuality  will  reflect  as  much  significance 
as  woman’s.  Indeed,  his  change  of  occupation  has  changed 
home  more  than  hers.  When  he  spent  his  life  in  war,  home  was  a 
castle  ;  when  he  pioneered,  it  was  a  cabin  ;  but  now  when  he  be¬ 
gins  to  “  settle  down,”  ceases  to  be  a  nomadic,  or  a  partially  wild 
animal,  and  becomes  domesticated,  home  takes  on  a  docile,  cozy, 
feather-lined  aspect  and  condition. 

To  judge  man  in  the  home  at  his  right  valuation,  we  have 
but  to  compare  him  with  his  fellows  in  the  club,  the  camp, 
the  ship,  the  pinery.  That  is,  we  have  but  to  estimate  the  dig¬ 
nity  and  value  of  the  normal  over  the  abnormal,  of  the  complete 
as  against  the  fractional.  Nor  does  it  matter  whether  his  home 
be  a  “dug-out”  in  Dakota,  or  a  brown-stone  front  in  Boston. 
The  man  with  the  one  woman  that  he  loves,  and  who  loves  him, 
standing  in  the  relation  of  true  yoke-fellow  to  all  his  plans  and 
toil, with  happy  children  at  his  knee,  and  an  unselfish  purpose  in 
his  soul,  is  as  far  removed  from  his  self-centered,  squandering, 
dissatisfied  brethren  as  is  the  light-house  keeper  from  the  ship¬ 
wrecked  crew. 

All  the  world  knows  that  it  must  look  to  married  men  for  its 
types  of  the  ideal  in  manhood.  They  have  a  delicacy,  a  broth¬ 
erly  considerateness,  a  homelikeness  of  character  and  manner, 
quite  unmistakable.  It  is  the  outcome  of  their  nurture  ;  it  could 
not  be  other  than  it  is,  because  like  causes  lead  to  like  results. 
All  women  think  that  if  all  men  were  but  like  some  married  men 
wdiom  they  could  name,  the  world  would  reach  its  acme.  But 
no  man  can  be  like  these  model  men  except  by  passing  through 
the  flower-wreathed  gate-way  of  the  home. 

The  man  who,  in  his  uncompanioned  estate,  yet  carries 
steadily  from  year  to  year  the  “lily  of  a  stainless  life,”  would 
oftentimes  command  our  reverence  if  we  but  knew  why  he  so 
resolutely  walks  that  shadowed  pathway.  Perhaps  like  our  own 
beloved  Washington  Irving,  he  is  keeping  faith  with  some  sweet 
woman  long  since  dead.  Perhaps,  like  Longfellow  in  those 
years  of  his  pathetic  widowerhood,  life  seems  a  blank  to  him, 


The  1  ‘  Home-ache .  ’  ’  607 

which  he  tries  to  fill  by  singing  the  song  of  an  uncomplain¬ 
ing,  but  sorely  smitten  heart. 

This  world  of  halfness  and  mirage  has  many,  doubtless,  who 
thus  go  uncompanioned,  buffeting  the  waves  of  temptation  “like 
some  strong  swimmer  in  his  agony,”  and  for  them  heaven  must 
twine  its  brightest  amaranths,  and  angels  plan  their  sweet  sur¬ 
prises. 

“  He  who  wrote  home’s  sweetest  song,  ne’er  had  one  of  his 
own.”  So  sang  Will  Carleton  of  gentle  John  Howard  Payne. 
“ Heimweh,”  or  “home-ache,”  that  stronger,  tenderer  word  for 
“  homesick,”  coined  by  the  Germans,  was  indubitably  coined  by 
men.  ‘  ‘  Blessed  are  the  homesick  for  they  shall  go  home  ’  ’  was 
a  holy  thought  smitten  from  a  man’s  and  not  a  woman’s  heart. 
I  undertake  to  say  that  the  dearest  and  most  disinterested  lovers 
of  home  upon  this  earth  are  men.  A  thousand  motives,  preju¬ 
dices,  and  conventions  hedge  women  into  homes,  but  men,  with 
all  the  world  to  choose  from,  choose  the  home.  It  is  the  noblest 
and  most  redeeming  fact  in  their  long  annals,  and  predicts  their 
perfectibility  as  nothing  else  can.  This  innate  tenderness  makes 
every  man,  cultured  as  well  as  ignorant,  respond  with  a  thrill 
of  the  heart  to  the  simple,  but  famous  lines  : 

“One  little  hut  among  the  bushes, 

One  that  I  lova, 

Still  fondly  to  my  memory  rushes, 

No  matter  where  I  rove.” 

That  very  “roving”  has  much  to  do  with  it,  for  contrasts 
alone  educate  the  soul  into  a  knowledge  of  values.  Tempest- 
tossed  and  battle-worn,  deceived  and  buffeted,  the  manly  heart 
loves  the  sacred  refuge  of  its  home. 

It  was  said  of  a  French  soldier,  whose  well-nigh  fatal  wound 
near  the  heart  was  being  probed,  after  the  battle  of  Waterloo, 
that  he  whispered  to  the  surgeon,  “  If  you  go  much  deeper,  Sir, 
you’ll  find  the  Emperor.”  I  believe  that  if  every  normal  heart  of 
man  were  probed,  its  deepest,  sweetest,  and  most  cherished  image 
would  be  home.  Those  who  have  none  of  their  own  are  well 
described  in  Grace  Greenwood’s  lines  : 

“  Thus  was  his  soul  tempestuous, 

As  the  ocean  on  the  beach 
Moans  for  the  inland  quiet 
Its  waves  can  never  reach. 


6o8 


“  Old  Maid  ”  and  “  Old  Bachelor 


Man  needs  home,  if  possible,  more  than  woman  does; 
though  without  it,  either,  is  at  best,  but  a  jewel  torn  from  its  set¬ 
ting.  He  is  in  more  danger  without  its  anchorage  than  she,  for 
the  centripetal  forces  of  her  nature  will  always  draw  her  strongly 
toward  the  light,  even  though  its  beacon  shine  from  some  hap¬ 
pier  woman’s  fireside,  while  the  centrifugal  forces  of  his  nature 
will  drive  him  afar  off  into  darkness.  Women  who  go  their  way 
alone  are  not,  in  this  kindly  age,  so  lonely  as  men  who  do  the 
same.  Almost  always  such  women  make  for  themselves  a  niche 
in  some  home  sanctuary,  are  sheltered  by  its  walls  and  warmed 
by  its  genial  glow,  but  an  isolated  man  finds  this  solace  imprac¬ 
ticable.  “  In  the  long  run,”  God’s  compensations  balance  desti¬ 
nies  once  cruelly  unequal,  and  to-day,  in  America  at  least,  the 
term  “old  maid”  has  in  it  as  little  of  reproach  and  almost  less 
of  pathos  than  ‘  ‘  old  bachelor.  ’  ’ 

But  does  any  one  suppose  we  have  found  out  what  man  might 
be  in  the  home  ?  He  has  been  thus  far  an  embryonic  figure  there, 
a  mere  sketch  or  outline,  dim  and  shadowy.  Nor  is  it  yet  ap¬ 
parent  what  he  will  be,  but  we  may  catch  some  glimpse  of  that 
new  and  magnificent  creation  by  a  study  of  the  evolution  of  home. 
'This  is  the  most  attractive  theme  in  sociology,  and  the  silence  of 
philosophers  concerning  it  seems  unexplainable.  The  locomo¬ 
tive  has  in  sixty  years  been  developed  from  a  speed  of  six,  to  one 
of  sixty  miles  an  hour,  and  the  car  from  a  lumbering  stage-coach 
propelled  by  steam,  to  a  luxurious  and  palatial  “  Pullman  ”  ;  the 
plow  has  grown  from  a  wooden  board  to  a  glittering,  steam-driven 
monarch  of  the  sod  ;  the  public  school  has  advanced  from  horn¬ 
books  to  the  methods  of  Pestalozzi  and  of  Froebel — and  meanwhile 
the  home  has  kept  pace  with  these  other  forms  of  growth  which 
are  but  its  caterers  and  its  conservers. 

No  greater  change  has  been  witnessed  in  material  surround¬ 
ings  than  that  between  the  log-house  of  the  pioneer  and  the 
palace  of  his  grandson,  for  the  embellishment  of  which  every 
country  has  been  ransacked  and  where  every  device  of  invention 
has  been  exhausted  upon  the  comfort  and  convenience  of  the 
family.  This  outward  progress  does  but  symbolize  the  develop¬ 
ment  of  its  interior  spirit  and  advancing  life.  At  the  present  rate 
of  improvement,  two  generations  will  not  have  passed  before 
the  outgrowth  of  invention  will  have  reduced  to  a  minimum 


Equal  Partners. 


609 


housewifely  cares,  and  the  wholesale  will  have  supplanted  the 
retail  method  in  household  economics.  This  is  a  perfectly  fair 
inference  from  what  has  been  already  wrought  by  the  transforma¬ 
tion  of  the  simplest  home  duties  into  great  industries  carried  for¬ 
ward  by  machinery.  Thus  set  free  from  accustomed  occupations 
the  average  woman  will  enter  more  largely  into  her  husband’s  pur¬ 
suits  and  share  more  constantly  her  children’s  studies  and  recrea¬ 
tions.  The  desideratum  will  be  found  when  the  house  becomes  a 
unit,  not  by  such  extinguishment  as  makes  ‘  ‘  husband  and  wife 
one  and  that  one  the  husband,”  but  by  such  recognition  as  makes 
one-half  the  property  the  wife’s  in  fee  simple,  and  associates  the 
husband  with  her  as  equal  partner  in  the  rearing  of  their  children. 

A  brilliant,  but  irreverent  writer  began  an  article  on  home¬ 
training  with  the  words,  “  Show  us  the  father  and  it  sufficeth  us.” 
The  New  York  Independent  in  a  description  of  the  Knights  of 
Tabor  convention  in  Richmond,  Va.,  brings  the  father  forward 
in  a  new  and,  perhaps,  prophetic  role.  These  are  its  words  : 

“  On  the  first  day  of  the  session  there  was  in  attendance  Mrs.  Elizabeth 
Rodgers,  of  Chicago,  with  her  twelfth  babe  in  her  arms,  that  day  two  weeks 
old.  Mrs.  Rodgers  is  District  Master  Workman  of  District  24  in  that 
city  and  was  accompanied  by  her  husband,  both  being  delegates.  She 
is  a  woman  thirty-nine  years  old  ;  tall,  large  and  noble-looking,  with  a  pleas¬ 
ant  face  and  fine  features.  She  and  her  child  received  very  general  and 
kindly  consideration.  A  gold  watch  and  chain  were  purchased  and  pre¬ 
sented  to  Mrs.  Rodgers  on  the  platform,  the  father  standing  and  holding  the 
child  ;  and  the  group  was  a  very  pretty  and  touching  sight.” 

Doubtless  this  honest  workman,  cradling  in  his  strong  arms 
his  little  one,  felt  no  sense  of  degradation,  but  rather  was  proud 
of  his  place  and  honored  by  his  fellows.  That  this  could  be  in 
the  rank  of  life  to  which  he  belonged,  is  a  vivid  proof  that  we 
have  moved  a  long  way  onward  in  this  Christian  republic  from 
the  Indian  who  loads  his  wife  with  the  rations  given  out  at  a 
Western  fort,  or  the  peasant  of  Berlin  who  fastens  wife  and  dog 
together  to  the  cart  of  vegetables. 

Man  in  the  home  will  have  a  larger  place  in  the  proportion 
that  woman,  in  the  constantly  more  homelike  world,  gains  larger 
standing-room.  Motherhood  will  not  be  less,  but  fatherhood  a 
hundred-fold  more  magnified.  To  say  this  is  to  declare  the 
approaching  beatitude  of  men.  For  when  to  the  splendor  of  their 
intellectual  powers  and  the  magnificence  of  their  courage  shall  be 
39 


610  Evolution  of  the  Home  Idea. 

added  the  unselfish  devotion  that  comes  of  “  childward  care,  ’  ’ 
we  shall  see  characters  more  Christ-like  than  the  world  has 
known  save  in  its  calendar  of  saints. 

Immeasurable  has  been  the  loss  to  men  that  in  the  age  of 
force,  of  war,  and  pioneering,  they  were  .so  much  shut  out  from 
the  holy  ministries  of  home’s  inmost  sanctuary,  where  Madonna 
and  Child  are  evermore  enshrined. 

Our  environments  are  so  largely  answerable  for  our  virtues 
or  defects,  that  the  quality  of  character  we  would  produce  must 
have  its  promise  and  its  potency  in  the  recurring  experiences  of 
our  daily  lives.  When  the  hand  that  rules  the  world  shall  also 
rock  the  cradle,  the  millennium  will  no  longer  be  far  off.  When 
the  father  builds  his  life  and  thought  into  his  daughter  as  the 
mother  has  hitherto  built  hers  into  her  son,  the  world  will  see 
her  grandest  women  and  her  kindliest  men.  The  manhood  of 
strength  and  gentleness  can  only  come  as  a  result  of  the  ministry 
of  gentleness  and  strength,  and  home  will  be  its  training  school. 

‘  ‘  What  is  home  without  a  father  ?  ’  ’  shall  then  become  a 
question  as  natural  and  as  genuinely  full  of  pathos  as  is  now  its 
maternal  correlate.  The  capacity  of  the  human  mind  to  resist 
knowledge  is  nowhere  more  painfully  illustrated  than  in  the  post¬ 
ulate  laid  down  by  average  minds  that  home  is  always  to  be 
just  what  it  is  now — forgetting  that  in  no  two  consecutive  gener¬ 
ations  has  it  remained  the  same  ;  and  the  otner  postulate  that 
man’s  relation  to  the  home  can  never  change — forgetting  that  the 
one  constant  quantity  in  his  evanescent  relations  to  every  sub¬ 
lunary  object  has  been  change  itself. 

Already  the  word  “  obey  ”  has  been  expunged  from  woman’s 
marriage  vow  ;  already  her  relation  of  inferior  to  her  husband  is 
changed  to  that  of  comrade  ;  already  the  time-worn  phrase,  ‘  ‘  no 
home  can  hold  two  purses,”  is  regarded  with  contempt  by  the 
best  men,  and  the  relation  of  financial  equality  before  the  law 
hastens  to  replace  that  of  “coverture”  which  had  its  value  in  a 
warlike  age  but  hastens  to  its  exit  from  the  age  of  peace ; 
already  woman  as  an  individual,  standing  beside  man  as  her 
equal  partner  in  life,  love,  and  opportunity,  is  the  ideal  of  the 
typical  young  American,  both  male  and  female,  so  that  man  in 
the  home  is  becoming  a  new  factor  under  conditions  that  make 
him  joint  high-priest  of  that  holiest  temple  made  with  hands. 


/s  Marriage  a  Failure  f 


61  r 

The  nearer  he  approaches  to  the  cradle  and  the  more  frequently, 
the  happier  for  him  and  for  his  home  and  for  the  state.  Habits 
of  impurity  will  seem  more  loathsome  in  that  presence  than  any¬ 
where  else  upon  the  earth.  The  loftiest  chivalry  of  which  the 
strongest  can  be  capable  comes  as  a  sequel  of  their  service  to 
the  weakest. 

When  the  White  Cross  gospel  shall  have  been  embosomed 
in  young  manhood’s  life  for  one  blessed  generation,  the  sancti-' 
ties  of  fatherhood  shall  be  seen  to  exceed  all  others  to  which  a 
manly  spirit  can  attain  in  this  state  of  existence,  and  the  malari¬ 
ous  dream  of  wicked  self-indulgence  shall  slowly  but  surely  give 
place  to  the  sacred  self-restraint  which  waits  to  crown  with  all 
good  fairies’  gifts  the  little  life  which  noble  love  alone  may  dare 
invoke. 

IS  MARRIAGE  A  FAILURE  ? 

With  all  its  faults,  and  they  are  many,  I  believe  the  present 
marriage  system  to  be  the  greatest  triumph  of  Christianity,  and 
that  it  has  created  and  conserves  more  happy  homes  than  the  world 
has  ever  before  known.  Any  law  that  renders  less  binding  the 
mutual,  life-long  loyalty  of  one  man  and  one  woman  to  each  other, 
which  is  the  central  idea  of  every  home,  is  an  unmitigated  curse 
to  that  man  and  woman,  to  that  home  and  to  humanity.  Around 
this  union,  which  alone  renders  possible  a  pure  society  and  a  per¬ 
manent  state,  the  law  should  build  its  utmost  safeguards,  and 
upon  this  union  the  Gospel  should  pronounce  its  most  sacred 
benedictions.  But,  while  I  hold  these  truths  to  be  self-evident,  I 
believe  that  a  constant  evolution  is  going  forward  in  the  home  as 
in  every  other  place,  and  that  we  have  but  dimly  dreamed  the  good 
in  store  for  those  whom  God  for  holiest  love  hath  made.  In  the 
nature  of  the  case,  the  most  that  even  Christianity  itself  could  do 
at  first,  though  it  is  the  strongest  force  ever  let  loose  upon  the 
planet,  was  to  separate  one  man  and  woman  from  the  common 
herd  into  each  home,  telling  the  woman  to  remain  therein  with 
grateful  quietness,  while  the  man  stood  at  the  door  to  defend  its 
sacred  shrine  with  fist  and  spear,  to  insist  upon  its  rights  of  prop¬ 
erty,  and  to  stand  for  it  in  the  state. 

Thus,  under  the  conditions  of  a  civilization  crude  and  mate¬ 
rial,  grew  up  that  well-worn  maxim  of  the  common  law  :  “  Hus¬ 
band  and  wife  are  one,  and  that  one  is  the  husband.”  But  this 


612 


“ Many  Men  are  Good  and  Gracious 


supreme  power  brought  to  the  man  supreme  temptations.  By  the 
laws  of  mind  he  legislated  first  for  himself  and  afterward  for  the 
physically  weaker  one  within  “  his  ”  home.  The  femme  couverte 
is  not  a  character  appropriate  to  our  peaceful,  homelike  communi¬ 
ties,  although  she  may  have  been  and  doubtless  was  a  necessary 
figure  in  the  days  when  women  were  safe  only  as  they  were  shut 
up  in  castles  and  when  they  were  the  booty  chiefly  sought  in  war. 

To-day  a  woman  may  circumnavigate  the  world  alone  and 
yet  be  unmolested.  Twenty  years  ago  when  I  was  traveling  in 
Palestine,  a  lady  of  wealth  made  the  trip,  tenting  by  herself  and 
escorted  only  by  a  dragoman,  as  was  our  own  party  of  ten  men 
and  three  women.  A  recent  book,  the  name  of  which  I  have  for¬ 
gotten,  gives  a  piquant  account  of  the  journey  made  by  a  party 
of  American  ladies  in  Africa,  and  nothing  is  'more  common 
than  the  European  rambles  of  newly-fledged  collegians  of  the 
gentler  sex.  Our  marriage  la\Vs  and  customs  are  changing  to 
meet  these  new  conditions.  It  will  not  do  to  give  the  husband 
of  the  modern  woman  power  to  whip  his  wife,  provided  that  the 
stick  he  uses  must  not  be  larger  than  his  finger  ;  to  give  him  the 
right  to  will  away  her  unborn  child  ;  to  have  control  over  her 
property  ;  and,  in  the  state,  to  make  all  the  laws  under  which  she 
is  to  live,  adjudicate  all  her  penalties,  try  her  before  juries  of 
men,  conduct  her  to  prison  under  the  care  of  men,  cast  the  ballot 
for  her,  and  in  general  hold  her  in  the  estate  of  a  perpetual  minor. 
It  will  not  do  to  let  the  modern  man  determine  the  “  age  of  con¬ 
sent,”  settle  the  penalties  that  men  shall  suffer  whose  indignities 
and  outrages  toward  women  are  worse  to  their  victims  than 
death,  and  by  his  exclusive  power  to  make  all  laws  and  choose 
all  officers,  judicial  and  executive,  to  have  his  own  case  wholly 
in  his  own  hands.  To  continue  this  method  is  to  make  it  as 
hard  as  possible  for  men  to  do  right,  and  as  easy  as  possible  for 
them  to  do  wrong,  the  magnificent  possibilities  of  manly  char¬ 
acter  being  best  prophesied  from  the  fact  that  under  such  a  system 
so  many  men  are  good  and  gracious. 

My  theory  of  marriage  in  its  relation  to  society  would  give 
this  postulate  :  Husband  and  wife  are  one,  and  that  one  is — 
husband  and  wife.  I  believe  they  will  never  come  to  the  heights 
of  purity,  of  power  and  peace,  for  which  they  were  designed  in 
heaven,  until  this  better  law  prevails  : 


The  New  Regime. 
<_> 


613 


“  Two  heads  in  council,  two  beside  the  hearth, 

Two  in  the  tangled  business  of  the  world, 

Two  in  the  liberal  offices  of  life  ; 

Two  plummets  dropt  for  one  to  sound  the  abyss 
Of  science  and  the  secrets  of  the  mind.” 

Poets  are  prophets,  and  the  greatest  poet  of  our  time  has  set 
humanity’s  great  goal  before  us,  only  to  be  gained 

“  When  reign  the  world’s  great  bridals,  chaste  and  calm.” 

One-half  the  world  for  the  wife — an  undivided  half  apiece 
for  wife  and  husband  ;  co-education  to  mate  them  on  the  plane  of 
mind,  equal  property  rights  to  make  her  God’s  own  free  woman, 
not  coerced  into  marriage  for  the  sake  of  a  support,  nor  a  bond- 
slave  after  she  is  married,  who  asks  her  master  for  the  price  of  a 
paper  of  pins  and  gives  him  back  the  change,  or,  if  a  petted 
favorite,  owing  her  lease  of  purse  wholly  to  his  will  and  never  to 
her  right ;  free  to  go  her  honored  and  self-respecting  way  as  a 
maiden  in  pej'petuo  rather  than  marry  a  man  whose  deterioration 
through  the  alcohol  and  nicotine  habits  is  a  menace  to  herself 
and  the  descendants  that  such  a  marriage  must  have  invoked — 
these  are  the  outlooks  of  the  future  that  shall  make  the  marriage 
system,  never  a  failure  since  it  became  monogamic,  an  assured, 
a  permanent,  a  paradisiacal  success. 

In  that  day  the  wife  shall  surrender  at  marriage  no  right  not 
equally  surrendered  by  the  husband — not  even  her  own  name. 
Emile  Girardin,  that  keen-sighted  writer  of  France,  says  that  it  is 
so  much  easier,  for  obvious  reasons,  to  trace  ancestry  along  the 
mother’s  line,  that  historic  records  have  incalculably  suffered  by 
the  arbitrary  relinquishment  of  her  name.  Probably  the  French 
have  hit  upon  the  best  expedient,  the  union  of  the  two.  Thus  I 
recall  that  in  Paris  my  home  was  with  an  accomplished  lady 
whose  maiden  name  was  Farjon,  and  whose  husband’s  was  Perrot, 
her  visiting-card  bearing  the  inscription,  “  Madame  Eglantine 
Perrot- Farjon.”  The  growing  custom,  in  this  country  at  least,  to 
give  the  mother’s  name  to  a  son  or  daughter  indicates  the  increas¬ 
ing,  though  perhaps  unconscious,  recognition  of  woman  as  an 
equal  partner  in  the  marriage  sacrament  and  compact.  But  the 
tendency,  even  among  men  of  intelligence,  to  sign  themselves 


6 14  The  Magnum  Opus  of  Christianity . 

“John  Jones,  wife,  child  and  nurse,”  as  we  see  it  in  the  registers 
of  fashionable  hotels,  is  a  frequent  reminder  of  the  pit  from  which 
wives  are  slowly  being  digged.  The  man  who  writes  “Mr.  John 
and  Mrs.  Jane  Jones,”  may  be  regarded  as  well  on  the  road  to  a 
successful  evolution  !  although  “Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Jones”  is 
about  the  correct  thing  up  to  this  date.  The  time  will  come  when 
the  mother’s  custody  of  children  will  constructively  be  preferred 
in  law  to  that  of  the  father,  on  the  ground  that  in  a  Christian 
civilization  it  is  safer  and  more  consonant  with  natural  laws. 

Last  of  all  and  cliiefest,  the  magnum  opus  of  Christianity, 
and  Science,  which  is  its  handmaid,  the  wife  will  have  undoubted 
custody  of  herself,  and,  as  in  all  the  lower  ranges  of  the  animal 
creation,  she  will  determine  the  frequency  of  the  investiture  of 
life  with  form  and  of  love  with  immortality.  My  library  groans 
under  accumulations  of  books  written  by  men  to  teach  women 
the  immeasurable  iniquity  of  arresting  development  in  the  gene¬ 
sis  of  a  new  life,  but  not  one  of  these  volumes  contains  the  remot¬ 
est  suggestion  that  this  responsibility  should  be  at  least  equally 
divided  between  himself  and  herself.  The  untold  horrors  of 
this  injustice  dwarf  all  others  out  of  sight,  and  the  most  hopeless 
feature  of  it  is  the  utter  unconsciousness  with  which  it  is  com¬ 
mitted.  But  better  days  are  dawning  ;  the  study  by  women  of 
heredity  and  prenatal  influences  is  flooding  with  light  the  Via 
Dolorosa  of  the  past ;  and  the  White  Cross  army  with  its  equal 
standard  of  purity  for  men  and  women  is  moving  to  its  rightful 
place  of  leadership  among  the  hosts  of  men.  I  believe  in  uniform 
national  marriage  laws,  in  divorce  for  one  cause  only,  in  legal 
separation  on  account  of  drunkenness,  but  I  would  elevate  and 
guard  the  marriage  tie  by  every  guarantee  that  could  make  it  at 
the  top  of  society,  the  most  coveted  estate  of  the  largest-natured 
and  most  endowed,  rather  than  at  the  bottom,  the  necessary  refuge 
of  the  smallest-natured  and  most  dependent  woman.  Besides  all 
this,  in  the  interest  of  men,  i .  e .,  that  their  incentives  to  the  best 
life  may  be  raised  to  the  highest  power,  I  would  make  women  so 
independent  of  marriage  that  men  who,  by  bad  habits ,  and  nig¬ 
gardly  estate,  whether  physical,  mental,  or  moral,  were  least 
adapted  to  help  build  a  race  of  human  angels,  should  find  the 
facility  with  which  they  now  enter  its  hallowed  precincts  reduced 
to  the  lowest  minimum. 


General  Conferences . 


615 


THE  LAW  OP  KINDNESS. 

I  am  proud  to  belong  to  the  Universal  Peace  Union,  and  the 
Massachusetts  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals, 
and  to  echo  every  word  uttered  by  Frances  Power  Cobbe  of 
England,  and  George  T.  Angell  of  America,  those  brave  defend¬ 
ers  of  the  gentle  faith  that  “Nothing  is  inexorable  but  love,” 
and  that  we  are 

“  Never  to  blend  our  pleasure  or  our  pride 
With  sorrow  of  the  meanest  thing  that  feels.” 

My  shepherd  collie,  “Prohibition”  (“  Hibbie,”  for  short, 
and  “  Hib,”  for  shorter),  is  a  perpetual  gospel  to  me  as  he  reaches 
out  his  shaggy  paw  with  a  wise  look  in  his  eyes  that  seem  to 
say,  “  Have  patience  with  me  and  it  shall  grow  to  be  a  hand.” 


MY  EXPERIENCE  WITH  GENERAL  CONFERENCES. 

I  have  seen  three  of  these  courts.  The  first  was  in  Chicago 
in  1868,  when,  dressed  in  my  spick-and-span  new  traveling  suit 
for  Europe,  I  glanced  in  through  the  crowded  door  of  Clark 
Street  Church,  where  a  tremendous  debate  was  going  on  about 
lay  delegation ;  but  it  was  nearly  time  for  my  train  to  New  York, 
and  this  glance  was  all  I  had. 

The  next  was  in  1880  in  Pike’s  Opera  House  at  CincinnatL 
Our  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  had  sent  a  message  that  year  to  all  the 
leading  ecclesiastical  assemblages,  respectfully  asking  for  a 
friendly  word  from  them,  and  suggesting  that  they  appoint  rep¬ 
resentatives  who  should  attend  our  National  Convention  to  see 
what  we  were  doing  and  bring  us  words  of  cheer.  In  our  sim¬ 
plicity,  we  thought  it  the  most  natural  thing  imaginable  thus  to 
bring  the  work  we  loved  back  to  the  church  that  had  nurtured 
us  and  given  us  our  inspiration,  and  we  thoroughly  believe  that 
history  will  declare  not  only  that  our  purpose  was  true  and  good, 
but  that  our  plan  was  altogether  reasonable.  One  would  have 
thought,  however,  that  something  revolutionary  had  been  pro¬ 
posed,  when  it  was  known  that  my  friend,  Miss  F.  Jennie  Duty, 
of  Cleveland,  and  myself  were  in  the  Opera  House  desirous  of 
presenting  this  message  !  Grave,  dignified  clergymen  who  had 


616  An  Unspokeyi  Speech  Ten  Minutes  Long. 

always  been  my  friends,  looked  curiously  upon  me  as  if  I  were, 
somehow,  a  little  daft.  “We  have  no  precedent,”  they  said. 
“How  could  you  have?”  was  my  answer,  “the  Crusade  was, 
like  the  Day  of  Pentecost,  unprecedented.  The  case  is  a  new 
one,  and  your  Methodist  sisters  earnestly  believe  that  you  will 
meet  it  on  its  merits.” 

I  will  not  write  here  the  names  of  the  good  Bishops,  almost 
as  dear  to  me  as  my  own  brothers,  who  passed  by  on  the  other 
side,  not  wishing  to  commit  themselves,  also  not  wishing  to  hurt 
my  feelings  at  this  crisis.  We  sought  in  vain  for  their  advice. 
Somehow,  they  were  always  busy,  and  never  could  be  seen. 
Meantime  the  buzzing  went  on.  Poor  Anna  Oliver,  who  was 
trying  to  gain  recognition  as  a  preacher,  seemed  hardly  more  of 
a  black  sheep  than  we  two  white  ribbon  women  with  our  harm¬ 
less  little  message. 

The  Temperance  Committee,  however,  treated  us  well,  invited 
us  in  to  its  session,  and  incorporated  in  its  report  a  resolution  that 
we  desired  about  communion  wine,  also  made  kindly  allusion, 
though  not  by  name,  to  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  My  noble  friend,  Bishop 
Foster,  consented  to  preside  at  a  temperance  meeting  addressed  by 
me,  and  stood  his  ground  valiantly,  at  much  cost,  I  have  no  doubt, 
to  his  prejudices.  Some  liberal-minded  delegates,  Dr.  Payne,  Dr. 
Theodore  T-  Flood,  and  Philip  Gillette,  a  lay  delegate  from  Illi¬ 
nois,  flung  down  the  gauntlet  for  me  by  introducing  a  resolution 
that  I  should  have  ten  minutes  in  which  to  speak  before  the 
Conference.  And  now  began  the  war  of  words,  the  opposition 
being  headed,  as  a  matter  of  course,  by  Dr.  Buckley,  who,  with 
his  faithful  ally,  Dr.  Daniel  Curry,  dealt  sledge-hammer  blows 
against  a  man  of  straw.  Two  hours  or  more  were  expended  in 
the  debate,  when  the  call  of  ayes  and  noes  demanded  by  Dr. 
Buckley,  showed  that  two  thirds  of  the  Conference  favored  giv¬ 
ing  the  ten  minutes.  Dilatory  tactics  were  now  resorted  to  by 
the  conservatives,  and  adjournment  was  secured,  it  being  a  little 
after  noon.  In  the  interval,  I  saw  that  my  brave  friends  were 
weakening,  and  they  suggested  that  I  send  a  note  saying  I  would 
not  speak,  for  as  the  matter  now  stood,  I  had  the  right  to  do  so, 
but  Dr.  Buckley  had  declared  that  he  would  exhaust  parliament¬ 
ary  resources  to  prevent  it.  I  told  them  that  personally  I  thought 
it  would  be  wiser  to  let  the  question  settle  itself,  and  I  was  neither 


Rock  River  Conference  Elects  a  Woman  Delegate .  617 

afraid  nor  ashamed  to  stand  in  my  lot  and  place  as  a  disturber  of 
the  peace  for  the  sake  of  all  that  I  believed  was  involved  in  the 
decision,  but  seeing  that  my  champions  strongly  preferred  to 
settle  the  question  peaceably,  I  compromised  the  matter  and 
wrote  the  following : 

Tuesday  Morning,  May  18,  1880. 

To  The  General  Conference : 

Honored  Brethren — It  is  the  judgment  of  many  of  your  members 
who  championed  the  cause  of  woman  in  yesterday’s  debate  ( in  which 
judgment  I  concur),  that  I  would  better  state  to  you,  with  my  hearty  thanks 
for  the  final  vote,  that  I  decline  to  use  the  hard-earned  ten  minutes  allotted 
me.  Suffer  me,  however,  to  explain  that,  having  been  sent  here  as  a  fra¬ 
ternal  visitor  by  our  Woman’s  National  SocietjE  and,  moreover,  having  so 
often  spoken  before  ecclesiastical  bodies  upon  their  earnest  invitation,  and 
never  having  attended  a  General  Conference  before,  I  had  no  idea  of  the 
strong  opposition  that  would  be  manifested,  or  I  would  not  have  listened  to 
the  generous  friends  wTho  urged  the  matter  on  your  attention. 

Your  sister  in  Christian  work, 

Frances  E.  Wieeard. 

In  October,  1887,  Anna  Gordon  and  I  were  at  Binghamton, 
attending  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  Convention  of  New  York  State.  It 
was  a  grand  occasion,  so  many  delegates  being  present  that  the 
large  church  was  filled  with  them.  We  were  entertained  in  the 
home  of  Mrs.  Mather,  granddaughter  of  Jonathan  Edwards, 
and  while  sitting  at  the  breakfast  table  in  her  pleasant  home,  I 
opened  a  telegram  there  handed  to  me,  and  read  these  words  : 

Chicago. 

I  suppose  you  know  that  the  Rock  River  Conference  has  chosen  you 
one  of  its  lay  delegates  to  the  General  Conference. 

S.  A.  Kean. 

The  tears  sprang  to  my  eyes,  and  turning  to  my  dignified 
hostess  I  said  :  “You  can  hardly  imagine  how  much  this  means 
to  me.  The  dear  old  Rock  River  Conference  of  which  my  brother 
was  once  a  member,  and  many  of  whose  ministers  I  have  knoWh 
from  girlhood,  seleats  me  as  one  of  its  two  lay  delegates,  and  my 
father’s  business  partner  of  twenty  years  ago  kindly  telegraphs 
the  pleasant  news.  Why  should  I  not  think  well  of  men  when 
they  can  do  things  so  magnanimous?  Every  one  who  voted 
for  me  would  have  given  his  eye  teeth  to  have  gone  in  my  stead, 
yet  they  set  to  work  and  sent  me,  just  out  of  brotherly  good¬ 
will.” 


6i8  Women  in  the  M.  E.  General  Conference . 

Much  more  after  this  sort  I  poured  out,  in  my  gratitude  and 
gladness,  to  the  quiet  old  lady,  whose  face  lighted  up  as  she 
“  rejoiced  in  my  joy.” 

No  one  had  ever  named  to  me  the  possibility  of  such  an 
honor,  save  that  Miss  Phebe  and  Mrs.  Franc  Elliott  (daughter 
and  daughter-in-law  of  Rev.  Dr.  Charles  Elliott,  former  editor  of 
the  Central  Christian  Advocate ,  but  now  deceased)  had  sent  me  a 
letter  stating  that  they  thought  women  should  go  to  the  General 
Conference,  as  they  had  for  years  helped  to  elect  those  who  did 
go  as  lay  delegates,  and  had  themselves  been  chosen  alternates, 
and  their  names  placed  without  question  on  General  Conference 
lists.  I  had  always  thought  that  no  fair-minded  person  could 
have  a  doubt  of  their  inherent  right  to  go,  since  women  consti¬ 
tute  at  least  two  thirds  of  the  church  membership,  bear  more 
than  one  half  its  burdens,  and  have  patiently  conceded  to  the 
brethren,  during  all  generations,  its  emoluments  and  honors. 

No  more  was  known  to  me  until,  on  returning  West,  I  heard 
that  certain  lawyers  of  the  contrary  part  (i.  e.,  well-known  oppo¬ 
nents  of  woman’s  larger  recognition  in  these  modern  days)  had 
said  that  I  would  never  be  allowed  to  take  my  .seat.  But  my 
friends  declared,  what  I  fully  believed,  that  the  Discipline  was  so 
explicit,  that  “the  wayfaring  man,  though  a  fool,”  could  not  fail 
to  find  its  meaning  friendly. 

In  the  midst  of  the  contention  that  came  up  later  on  in  the 
papers  of  my  church,  I  gave  myself  no  anxiety  about  the  subject ; 
indeed,  I  hold  that  word,  “anxiety,”  to  be  altogether  atheistic, 
and  have  endeavored  to  weed  it  out  of  my  vocabulary.  “  Careful 
for  nothing,  and  in  everything  a  giver  of  thanks,”  is  what  the 
commonest  sort  of  a  Christian  is  sacredly  bound  to  be,  or  to 
become.  My  invitation  was  duly  sent,  my  name  was  on  all 
the  published  lists  of  delegates  ;  the  author  of  ‘  ‘  Representative 
Methodists”  (containing  sketches  and  portraits  of  delegates),  to 
be  brought  out  by  our  official  Methodist  publishing  house,  wrote 
to  obtain  the  necessary  data;  my  Methodist  friends  in  New  York 
not  inviting  me,  I  had  accepted  the  assignment  to  the  Oriental 
Hotel,  suggested  by  Gen.  Clinton  B.  Fisk,  and  I  went  to  New  York 
a  few  days  before  the  great  Conference  was  to  begin  its  quadrennial 
session  as  the  Supreme  Court  of  our  church,  representing  over 
two  millions  of  Methodists.  By  this  time,  Dr.  Buckley  had 


Looks  into  and  Leaves  the  Great  Are?ia.  619 

taken  his  position  against  the  admission  of  women,  the  tintin¬ 
nabulation  of  tongues  had  set  in,  and  the  pent-up  pendulosity  of 
pens  had  fairly  burst  forth. 

I  arrived  in  New  York  on  the  Friday  previous  to  the  Confer¬ 
ence,  and  wishing  to  know  just  what  was  the  best  course  for  me 
to  pursue,  I  went  over  to  the  Opera  House  where  the  Conference 
was  to  hold  its  session  and  inquired  for  General  Fisk,  finding 
him  already  conferring  with  grave  dignitaries  of  the  church 
and  busy  with  his  duties  as  chairman  of  the  Committee  of  Arrange¬ 
ments.  He  went  with  Mrs.  Carse  and  me  into  the  Opera  House 
and  we  took  our  seats  on  the  platform  with  the  great  yawning 
auditorium  before  us,  empty  and  dark.  He  told  me  there  was 
going  to  be  a  vigorous  fight,  but  he  thought  the  women  would 
get  in.  I  asked  his  advice  about  sitting  with  my  delegation, 
assuring  him  that  I  would  on  no  account  take  a  wrong  attitude 
toward  the  controversy.  He  replied,  “Your  moral  right,  there 
is  none  to  dispute,  and  if  you  are  ruled  out  it  will  be  on  a  pure 
technicality  and  not  upon  the  merits  of  the  case.  This  being 
true,  I  advise  you  to  be  on  hand  bright  and  early  the  morning 
that  the  Conference  opens,  and  if  you  like,  I  shall  be  glad  to 
escort  you  along  the  aisle  to  your  place  with  your  Rock  River 
brethren.  ’  ’  But  there  had  come  to  me  that  morning  a  disquieting 
telegram  from  home ;  my  dear  mother  had  not  been  well  for  two 
or  three  weeks,  but  I  had  received  repeated  notes  in  her  usual 
hand  and  as  I  knew  her  cheery  spirit  and  great  desire  that  I 
should  be  a  member  of  the  Conference,  I  had  gone  on  with  my 
engagements,  knowing  that  she  was  in  the  very  best  of  care,  and 
believing  that  I  should  be  able  to  enter  on  my  novel  duties. 
However,  on  receiving  the  morning  telegram  that  mother  was  not 
very  well  and  Anna  Gordon  would  perhaps  better  go  to  her,  I 
telegraphed  at  once,  “Would  it  not  be  better  for  me  to  go?” 
That  this  made  it  almost  a  foregone  conclusion  that  I  should 
return  to  my  home,  I  knew,  for  my  faithful  secretaries  there 
would  hardly  take  the  risk  of  telling  me  not  to  come  when  I  had 
so  plainly  expressed  the  thought  and  purpose  of  doing  so.  There¬ 
fore,  I  was  prepared  for  the  response  that  soon  arrived,  “  Do  not 
be  anxious,  but  come.  ”  And  so  on  Saturday  night  I  took  the 
limited  express,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  deliberately  setting 
out  on  a  Sabbath  day’s  journey.  A  few  tii,nes,  chiefly  during  my. 


620  Anna  Gordon  Views  and  Reviews  the  Fray. 

travels  abroad,  I  have  been  under  circumstances  that  seemed  to 
me  to  justify  taking  a  train  on  Sunday,  but  while  I  would  not 
conceal  any  such  action  I  should  wish  to  go  on  record  as  having 
the  totality  of  my  life  opposed  to  Sunday  travel.  The  way  was 
long  and  dreary,  but  closely  filled  in  with  reading  and  writing, 
the  unfailing  solace  of  all  my  years  since  childhood.  It  was  on 
this  trip,  however,  tnat  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  of  travel  I 
had  a  downright  ill-mannered  vis-a-vis. 

My  kindest  of  neighbors  in  the  “annex,”  as  we  call  the 
cottage  that  my  sister  built  joining  our  own,  were  at  the  depot 
in  Chicago.  Helen  T.  Hood,  that  staunch-  wdiite  ribboner  of  Illi¬ 
nois,  reached  out  her  strong  hand  to  me  before  I  left  the  platform 
of  the  car,  and  said,  “Your  mother  is  better.”  I  think  no  words 
were  ever  sweeter  of  all  that  I  have  heard.  Now  followed  a 
month  in  which  I  exchanged  the  busy  and  constantly  varied 
activities  of  a  temperance  reformer  for  the  sacred  quiet  of  my 
mother’s  sick-room.  I  had  never  seen  her  so  ill,  but  she  was,  as 
always,  entirely  self-possessed.  We  had  a  council  of  physicians 
and  she  went  through  the  diagnosis  with  even  smiling  cheerful¬ 
ness,  saying,  “  I  think  I  shall  get  well,  but  I  am  not  at  all  afraid 
to  die.”  Tittle  by  little  she  crept  up  again  under  the  skillful 
care  of  that  noble  woman,  Dr.  Mary  McCrillis,  who  by  day  and 
night  was  with  us  in  our  trouble. 

Anna  Gordon  arrived  in  New  York  the  day  I  left,  and 
remained,  at  my  request,  until  the  great  question  was  decided, 
sending  me  constant  bulletins  from  the  Opera  House  box  where 
General  Fisk,  with  his  customary  thoughtfulness,  had  assigned 
her  a  seat.  Nothing  could  exceed  my  surprise  when  I  learned 
that  our  good  bench  of  Bishops  had  prejudged  the  entire  case  in 
their  opening  address.  Only  the  cold  type  of  the  Associated 
Press  dispatch,  giving  their  language,  could  have  made  me 
believe  this  possible.  Anna  Gordon  pictured  the  scene  dramatic¬ 
ally,  catching  on  the  wing  many  of  the  bright  turns  and  argu¬ 
ments  of  the  debaters,  and  seeming  full  of  expectation  that  the 
women  would  carry  the  day.  She  wrote  that  there  was  unrivaled 
commotion,  that  our  side  felt  confident,  that  friends  were  urgent 
for  my  return  and  strongly  counseled  it,  but  without  saying 
anything  to  my  mother,  who  is  so  self-sacrificing  that  I  knew 
-she  would  tell  me,  “By  all  means  go  back,  my  child,”  I  fully 


(i 


Thou ,  too,  Brutus !” 


621 


determined  that  I  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  controversy, 
directly  or  indirectly,  and  so  in  great  quietness  of  spirit  awaited 
the  result.  When  the  morning  Inter  Ocean  was  thrown  on  the 
steps,  I  would  refrain  for  some  time  from  going  after  it,  and  mother 
asked  no  questions.  But  when  I  read  that  the  lay  delegates  gave 
i  a  majority  against  the  admission  of  women,  and  remembered  that 
the  vote  of  women,  as  they  well  knew,  at  the  time  of  the  debate  on 
the  eligibility  of  the  laity  to  the  General  Conference,  had  forced 
open  its  doors  to  the  laymen  who  now  deliberately  voted  to 
exclude  women,  I  had  no  more  spirit  in  me.  Once  more  it  was 
a  case  of  “  Thou,  too,  Brutus  !  ”  That  the  Bishops  should  have 
“  left  us  lamenting,  ”  grieved  me,  but  when  the  lay  delegates  did 
the  same,  I  said  in  my  heart,  “Once  more  the  action  of  my 
fellow  mortals  weans  me  from  love  of  life,  and  by  so  doing  they 
have  doubtless  helped  me  more  than  their  generosity  of  action 
could  possibly  have  done.  ’  ’  However,  I  lost  110  sleep  and  wasted 
no  tears  over  the  curious  transaction,  and  I  confidently  predict 
that  we  five  women,  whose  election  was  thus  disavowed,  will 
have  more  enviable  places  in  history  than  any  who  opposed  us  on 
those  memorable  days.  Of  them  it  will  be  written,  while  doubt¬ 
less  they  did  not  so  intend,  that  they  committed  an  injustice:  of 
us,  only  that  in  silence  we  endured  it. 

The  champions  of  equality  made  a  splendid  record,  of  which 
they  will  be  prouder  with  each  added  year.  They  are  forerun¬ 
ners  of  that  grander,  because  more  equitable,  polity  that  shall 
yet  glorify  our  Methodism  when  in  her  law,  as  in  Christ’s  gospel, 
there  shall  be  “  Neither  male  nor  female.” 


SOCIETIES  OF  CHRISTIAN  ENDEAVOR. 

The  wonder  to  me  has  long  been  why  ministers  don’t  strike! 
They  are,  beyond  all  others,  the  burdened  brain-workers  of  the 
world,  hike  the  work  of  women,  theirs  is  never  done.  At  every¬ 
body’s  beck  and  call  for  the  greatest  variety  of  counsel  that 
human  ingenuity  can  devise  or  prodigious  power  supply,  the  min¬ 
isters  are  so  well  entitled  to  complain,  that  the  fact  of  their  not 
doing  so  is  proof  positive  of  their  superhuman  grace.  More 
unreasonable  than  all  the  other  demands  upon  them  in  these 
enlightened  days  is,  to  my  thinking,  the  demand  for  a  Sunday- 


622 


God  and  My  Heart. 


evening  sermon.  When  books  were  few  and  guiding  intellects 
were  fewer,  when  the  present  affluence  of  home-life  was  unknown, 
it  may  have  been,  and  very  likely  was,  essential  to  require  the 
pastor  to  serve  up  two  sermons  weekly.  But,  surely,  under 
modern  conditions  it  is  cruel  as  well  as  inconsistent  to  make  such 
a  requisition.  What  shall  we  substitute  ?  is  the  problem  now 
before  us.  To  this,  it  seems  to  me,  the  Christian  Endeavor 
Societies  afford  an  admirable  solution.  The  elders  do  not,  as  a 
rule,  largely  make  up  an  evening  audience,  and  the  younger 
ones  may  here  find  a  field  for  the  exercise  of  their  constantly 
increasing  experience  and  zeal.  Missionary  meetings,  home 
and  foreign,  for  which  the  Endeavor  Society  is  held  responsible, 
at  stated  intervals  ;  temperance  meetings  ditto  ;  Bible  readings, 
praise  services,  Sunday-school  concerts — may  not  these  be  the 
beginning  of  a  new  outlook  for  the  overworked  pastors  and  a 
blessedly  increased  activity  of  the  pews  ? 


GOD  AND  MY  HEART. 

It  was  one  night  in  June,  1859.  I  was  nineteen  years  old 
and  was  lying  on  my  bed  in  my  home  at  Evanston,  Ill.,  ill  with 
typhoid  fever.  The  doctor  had  said  that  the  crisis  would  soon 
arrive,  and  I  had  overheard  his  words.  Mother  was  watching 
in  the  next  room.  My  whole  soul  was  intent,  as  two  voices 
seemed  to  speak  within  me,  one  of  them  saying,  “  My  child, 
give  me  thy  heart.  I  called  thee  long  by  joy,  I  call  thee  now 
by  chastisement ;  but  I  have  called  thee  always  and  only  be¬ 
cause  I  love  thee  with  an  everlasting  love.” 

The  other  said,  “  Surely  you  who  are  so  resolute  and  strong 
will  not  break  down  now  because  of  physical  feebleness.  You 
are  a  reasoner,  and  never  yet  were  you  convinced  of  the  reason¬ 
ableness  of  Christianity.  Hold  out  now  and  you  will  feel  when 
you  get  well  just  as  you  used  to  feel.” 

One  presence  was  to  me  warm,  sunny,  safe,  with  an  impres¬ 
sion  as  of  snowy  wings  ;  the  other  cold,  dismal,  dark,  with  the 

0 

flutter  of  a  bat.  The  controversy  did  not  seem  brief ;  in  my 
weakness  such  a  strain  would  doubtless  appear  longer  than  it 
was.  But  at  last,  solemnly,  and  with  my  whole  heart,  I  said, 
not  in  spoken  words,  but  in  the  deeper  language  of  consciousness, 


My  Life' s  Greatest  Resolve. 


623 


“If  God  lets  me  get  well  I’ll  try  to  be  a  Christian  girl.” 
But  this  resolve  did  not  bring  peace.  “  You  must  at  once  declare 
this  resolution,”  said  the  inward  voice. 

Strange  as  it  seems,  and  complete  as  had  always  been  my 
.  frankness  toward  my  dear  mother,  far  beyond  what  is  usual 
even  between  mother  and  child,  it  cost  me  a  greater  humbling  of 
my  pride  to  tell  her  than  the  resolution  had  cost  of  self-surren¬ 
der,  or  than  any  other  utterance  of  my  whole  life  has  involved. 
After  a  hard  battle,  in  which  I  lifted  up  my  soul  to  God  for 
strength,  I  faintly  called  her  from  the  next  room,  and  said, 

“  Mother,  I  wish  to  tell  you  that  if  God  lets  me  get  well  I’ll 
try  to  be  a  Christian  girl.” 

She  took  my  hand,  knelt  beside  my  bed,  and  softly  wept,  and 
prayed.  I  then  turned  my  face  to  the  wall  and  sweetly  slept. 

That  winter  we  had  revival  services  in  the  old  Methodist 
church  at  Evanston.  Doctor  (now  Bishop)  Foster  was  president 
of  the  university,  and  his  sermons,  with  those  of  Doctors  Demp¬ 
ster,  Bannister,  and  others,  deeply  stirred  my  heart.  I  had  con¬ 
valesced  .slowly  and  spent  several  weeks  at  Forest  Home,  so  these 
meetings  seemed  to  be  my  first  public  opportunity  of  declaring 
my  new  allegiance.  The  very  earliest  invitation  to  go  forward, 
kneel  at  the  altar  and  be  prayed  for,  was  heeded  by  me.  Waiting 
for  no  one,  counseling  with  no  one,  I  went  alone  along  the  aisle 
with  my  heart  beating  so  loud  that  I  thought  I  could  see  as  well 
as  hear  it  beat,  as  I  moved  forward.  One  of  the  most  timid, 
shrinking,  and  sensitive  of  natures,  what  it  meant  to  me  to  go 
forward  thus,  with  my  student  friends  gazing  upon  me,  can  never 
be  told.  I  had  been  known  as  ‘  ‘  skeptical,  ’  ’  and  prayers  (of  which 
I  then  spoke  lightly)  had  been  asked  for  me  in  the  church  the  year 
before.  For  fourteen  nights  in  succession  I  thus  knelt  at  the 
altar,  expecting  some  utter  transformation  —  some  portion  of 
heaven  to  be  placed  in  my  inmost  heart,  as  I  have  seen  the  box  of 
valuables  placed  in  the  corner-stone  of  a  building  and  firmly  set, 
plastered  over  and  fixed  in  its  place  for  ever.  This  is  what  I 
had  determined  must  be  done,  and  was  loath  to  give  it  up. 

I  prayed  and  agonized,  but  what  I  sought  did  not  occur. 

One  night  when  I  returned  to  my  room  baffled,  weary  and 
discouraged,  and  knelt  beside  my  bed,  it  came  to  me  quietly  that 
this  was  not  the  way;  that  my  “conversion,”  my  “turning 


624  Five  Years  of  “  Common  Religion .” 

about,”  my  religious  experience  ( re-ligare ,  to  bind  again),  had 
reached  its  crisis  on  that  summer  night  when  I  said  “yes,”  to 
God.  A  quiet  certitude  of  this  pervaded  my  consciousness,  and 
the  next  night  I  told  the  public  congregation  so,  gave  my  name 
to  the  church  as  a  probationer,  and  after  holding  this  relation  for 
a  year  —  waiting  for  my  sister  Mary,  who  joined  later,  to  pass  her 
six  months’  probation,  I  was  baptized  and  joined  the  church,  May 
5,  1861,  “in  full  connection.”  Meanwhile  I  had  regularly  led, 
since  that  memorable  June,  a  prayerful  life  —  which  I  had  not 
done  for  some  months  previous  to  that  time  ;  .studied  my  Bible, 
and,  as  I  believe,  evinced  by  my  daily  life  that  I  was  taking 
counsel  of  the  heavenly  powers.  Prayer-meeting,  class-meeting 
(in  which  Rev.  Dr.  Hemenway  was  my  beloved  leader),  and 
church  services  were  most  pleasant  to  me,  and  I  became  an 
active  worker,  seeking  to  lead  others  to  Christ.  I  had  learned 
to  think  of  and  believe  in  God  in  terms  of  Jesus  Christ:  This 
had  always  been  my  difficulty,  as  I  believe  it  is  that  of  so  many. 
It  seems  to  me  that  by  nature  all  spiritually-disposed  people 
(and  with  the  exception  of  about  six  months  of  my  life,  I  was 
always  strongly  that)  are  Unitarians,  and  my  chief  mental  diffi¬ 
culty  has  always  been,  and  is  to-day,  after  all  these  years,  to 
adjust  myself  to  the  idea  of  “  Three  in  one  ”  and  “One  in  three.” 
But,  while  I  will  not  judge  others,  there  is  for  me  no  final  rest, 
except  as  I  translate  the  concept  of  God  into  the  nomenclature 
and  personality  of  the  New  Testament.  What  Paul  says  of 
Christ,  is  what  I  say  ;  the  love  John  felt,  it  is  my  dearest  wish 
to  cherish. 

Five  years  passed  by,  during  which  I  grew  to  love  more  and 
more  the  house  of  God  and  the  fellowship  of  the  blessed  Christian 
people  who  were  my  brothers  and  sisters  in  the  church.  The  first 
bereavement  of  my  life  came  to  me  about  three  years  after  I  was 
a  Christian,  in  the  loss  of  my  only  sister,  Maty,  whose  life-long 
companionship  had  been  to  me  a  living  epistle  of  conscientious¬ 
ness  and  spirituality.  In  her  death  she  talked  of  Christ  as  “  one 
who  held  her  by  the  hand,”  and  she  left  us  with  a  smile  fresh 
from  the  upper  glory.  A  great  spiritual  uplift  came  to  me  then, 
and  her  last  message,  “Sister,  I  want  you  to  tell  everybody  to 
be  good,”  was  like  a  perfume  and  a  prophecy  within  my  soul. 
This  was  in  1862.  In  1866  Mrs.  Bishop  Hamline  came  to  our 


41 Holiness  (Wholeness)  of  Heart” 


625 


tillage  and  we  were  closely  associated  in  the  work  of  the  “  Amer¬ 
ican  Methodist  Ladies’  Centennial  Association  ”  that  built  Heck 
Hall.  This  saintly  woman  placed  in  my  hands  the  ‘‘Life  of 
Hester  Ann  Rogers,”  “Life  of  Carvosso,”  “Life  of  Mrs. 
Fletcher,”  Wesley’s  “Sermons  on  Christian  Perfection,”  and 
Mrs.  Palmer’s  “  Guide  to  Holiness.”  I  had  never  seen  any  of 
these  books  before,  but  had  read  Peck’s  “  Central  Idea  of  Chris¬ 
tianity”  and  been  greatly  interested  in  it.  I  had  also  heard 
saintly  testimony  in  prayer-meeting,  and,  in  a  general  way,  be¬ 
lieved  in  the  doctrine  of  holiness.  But  my  reading  of  these 
books,  my  talks  and  prayers  with  Mrs.  Hamline,  that  modern 
Mrs.  Fletcher,  deeply  impressed  me.  I  began  to  desire  and  pray 
for  holiness  of  heart.  Soon  after  this,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Phebe 
Palmer  came  to  Evanston  as  guests  of  Mrs.  Hamline,  and  for 
weeks  they  held  meetings  in  our  church.  This  was  in  the  winter 
of  1866  ;  the  precise  date  I  can  not  give.  One  evening,  early  in 
their  meetings,  when  Mrs.  Palmer  had  spoken  with  marvelous 
clearness  and  power,  and  at  the  close,  those  desirous  of  entering 
into  the  higher  Christian  life  had  been  asked  to  kneel  at  the  altar, 
another  crisis  came  to  me.  It  was  not  so  tremendous  as  the  first, 
but  it  was  one  that  solemnly  impressed  my  spirit.  My  dear 
father  and  a  friend  whom  we  all  loved  and  honored,  sat  between 
me  and  the  aisle — both  Christian  men  and  greatly  reverenced  by 
me.  My  mother  sat  beyond  me.  None  of  them  moved.  At  last 
I  turned  to  my  mother  (who  was  converted  and  joined  the  church 
when  she  was  only  twelve  years  old)  and  whispered,  “  Will  you 
go  with  me  to  the  altar?”  She  did  not  hesitate  a  moment,  and 
the  two  gentlemen  moved  out  of  the  pew  to  let  us  pass,  but  did 
not  go  themselves.*  Kneeling  in  utter  self-abandonment,  I  con¬ 
secrated  myself  anew  to  God. 

My  chief  besetments  were,  as  I  thought,  a  speculative  mind, 
a  hasty  temper,  a  too  ready  tongue,  and  the  purpose  to  be  a  cele¬ 
brated  person.  But  in  that  hour  of  sincere  .self-examination  I  felt 
humiliated  to  find  that  the  simple  bits  of  jewelry  I  wore,  gold 
buttons,  rings  and  pin,  all  of  them  plain  and  ‘  ‘  quiet  ’  ’  in  their 
style,  came  up  to  me  as  the  separating  causes  between  my  spirit 
and  my  Saviour.  All  this  seemed  so  unworthy  of  that  sacred 

*A  little  later  my  father  did  publicly  ask  prayers,  though  an  officer  in  the  church  and 
a  Christian  from  early  manhood.  His 'remarkable  experience,  and  triumphant  death  in 
1868  I  have  described  in  “  The  Guide  to  Holiness.” 

40 


626 


“  Confession  and  Possession .” 


hour  that  I  thought  at  first  it  was  a  mere  temptation.  But  the 
sense  of  it  remained  so  strong  that  I  unconditionally  yielded  my 
pretty  little  jewels  and  great  peace  came  to  my  soul.  I  can  not 
describe  the  deep  welling  up  of  joy  that  gradually  possessed  me. 
I  was  utterly  free  from  care.  I  was  blithe  as  a  bird  that  is  good 
for  nothing  except  to  sing.  I  did  not  ask  myself,  “  Is  this  my 
duty  ?  ”  but  just  intuitively  knew  what  I  was  called  upon  to  do. 
The  conscious,  emotional  presence  of  Christ  through  the  Holy 
Spirit  held  me.  I  ran  about  upon  His  errands  “just  for  love.” 
Life  was  a  halcyon  day.  All  my  friends  knew  and  noticed  the 
change,  and  I  would  not  like  to  write  down  the  lovely  things 
some  of  them  said  to  me  ;  but  they  did  me  no  harm,  for  I  was 
shut  in  with  the  Lord.  And  yet,  just  then,  there  came,  all  unin¬ 
tended  and  unlooked  for,  an  experience  of  what  I  did  not  then 
call  sin,  which  I  now  believe  to  have  been  wrong.  My  own  real¬ 
ization  of  it  was,  however,  so  imperfect  that  it  did  not  mar  my 
loyalty  to  Christ.  In  this  holy,  happy  state,  I  engaged  to  go  from 
Evanston  to  Lima,  New  York,  and  become  preceptress  of  Genesee 
Wesleyan  Seminary.  Just  before  leaving,  my  honored  friend, 

Dr.  - ,  who  was  visiting  Governor  Evans,  said  to  me  one 

evening  : 

“Sister  Frank,  there  is  a  .strange  .state  of  things  at  Lima. 
The  Free  Methodists  have  done  great  harm  in  Western  New 
York  by  their  excesses  in  the  doctrine  and  experience  of  holiness. 
You  know  I  believe  thoroughly  in  and  profess  it,  but  just  now 
our  church  has  suffered  so  much  from  the  ‘Nazarites,’  as  they 
are  called,  that  I  fear  if  you  speak  and  act  in  this  cause  as  zeal¬ 
ously  at  Lima  as  you  do  here  it  may  make  trouble.  Hold  to  the 
experience,  but  be  very  careful  in  statement.  ’  ’ 

So  I  went  to  Lima  with  these  thoughts,  and  there,  quite 
soon,  in  a  prayer-meeting  in  the  old  Seminary  Chapel,  my  good 

friend,  Professor  - ,  whose  subsequent  experience  has  been 

such  a  blessed  heritage  to  Christians,  replied  to  a  student  who 
rose  to  inquire  about  holiness  :  “  It  is  a  subject  we  do  not  men¬ 
tion  here.  ’  ’ 

Young  and  docile-minded  as  I  was,  and  revering  those  two 
great  and  true  men,  I  “kept  still”  until  I  soon  found  I  had 
nothing  in  particular  to  keep  still  about.  The  experience  left 
me.  But  I  think  my  pupils  of  that  year  will  bear  me  witness 


The  Ice-cake  and  the  Sweet  South  Wind.  627 

that  for  tlieir  conversion  and  spiritual  upbuilding  I  was  con- 
,  stantly  at  work. 

Since  then  I  have  sat  at  the  feet  of  every  teacher  of  holiness 
whom  I  could  reach  ;  have  read  their  books  and  compared  their 
views.  I  love  and  reverence  and  am  greatly  drawn  toward  all, 
and  never  feel  out  of  harmony  with  their  spirit.  Wonderful 
uplifts  come  to  me  as  I  pass  on,  clearer  views  of  the  life  of  God 
in  the  soul  of  man.  Indeed,  it  is  the  only  life ,  and  all  my  being 
sets  toward  it  as  the  rivers  toward  the  sea.  Celestial  things  grow 
dearer  to  me  ;  the  love  of  God  is  steadfast  in  my  soul  ;  the  habi¬ 
tudes  of  a  disciple  sit  more  easily  upon  me  ;  tenderness  toward 
humanity  and  the  lower  orders  of  being  increases  with  the  years. 
I11  the  temperance,  labor  and  woman  questions  I  see  the  stirring 
of  Christ’s  heart ;  in  the  comradeship  of  Christian  work  my  spirit 
takes  delight,  and  prayer  has  become  my  atmosphere.  But  that 
sweet  pervasiveness,  that  heaven  in  the  soul,  of  which  I  came  to 
know  in  Mrs.  Palmer’s  meeting,  I  do  not  feel.  I  love  too  well 
the  good  words  of  the  good  concerning  what  I  do  ;  I  have  not  the 
control  of  tongue  and  temper  that  I  ought  to  have,  I  do  not 
answer  to  a  good  conscience  in  the  matter  of  taking  sufficient 
physical  exercise  and  the  sweet  south  wind  of  love  has  not  yet 
thawed  out  the  ice-cake  of  selfishness  from  my  breast.  But  God 
knows  that  I  constantly  lift  up  my  heart  for  conquest  over  all  these 
evils,  and  my  life  is  calm  and  peaceful.  Just  as  frankly  as  I  “  think 
them  over,”  have  I  here  written  down  the  outline  phenomena  of 
my  spiritual  life,  hoping  that  it  may  do  good  and  not  evil  to  those 
who  read.  I  am  a  strictly  loyal  and  orthodox  Methodist,  but  I 
find  great  good  in  all  religions  and  in  the  writings  of'  those  lofty 
and  beautiful  moralists  who  are  building  better  than  they  know, 
and  all  of  wffiose  precepts  blossom,  from  the  rich  soil  of  the  New 
Testament.  No  word  of  faith  in  God  or  love  toward  man  is  alien 
to  my  sympathy.  The  classic  ethics  of  Marcus  Aurelius  are 

dear  to  me,  and  I  have  carried  in  my  traveling  outfit  not  only 

% 

a  Kempis  and  Havergal  but  Epictetus  and  Plato.  The  mysticism 
of  Fenelon  and  Guy  on.  the  sermons  of  Henry  Drummond  and 
Beecher,  the  lofty  precepts  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  all  help  me 
up  and  onward.  I  am  an  eclectic  in  religious  reading,  friendship 
and  inspiration.  My  wide  relationships  and  constant  joumeyings 
would  have  made  me  so  had  I  not  had  the  natural  hospitality  of 


628 


A  71  Orthodox  ‘  ‘  Eclectic.  ’  ’ 


mind  that  leads  to  this  estate.  But,  like  the  bee  that  gathers  from 
many  fragrant  gardens,  but  flies  home  with  his  varied  gains  to  the 
same  friendly  and  familiar  hive,  so  I  fly  home  to  the  sweetness 
and  sanctity  of  the  old  faith  that  has  been  my  shelter  and  solace 
so  long. 

“  Rord  Jesus,  receive  my  spirit,”  is  the  deepest  voice  out  of 
my  soul.  Receive  it  every  instant,  voluntarily  given  back  to 
Thyself,  and  receive  it  in  the  hour  when  I  drop  this  earthly  man¬ 
tle  that  I  wear  to-day,  and  pass  onward  to  the  world  invisible,  but 
doubtless  not  far  off. 

All  my  life  I  have  heard  of  the  old  stone  church — the  church 
of  my  ancestors — founded  in  1815,  two  miles  north  of  Churcliville, 
my  place  of  birth,  which  is  fifteen  miles  west  of  Rochester,  N.  Y. 

.  In  1854  I  had  seen  it  when  my  sister  and  I  came  from  Wisconsin, 
as  ‘  ‘  prairie  girls,  ’  ’  to  visit  the  old-fashioned  home-nest ;  I  had  then 
entered  the  antiquated  auditorium,  that  with  its  galleries  could 
hardly  seat  three  hundred  persons.  Much  had  I  wondered  at  its 
pulpit  perched  on  high,  and  a  solemn  awe  had  struck  my  heart 
as  my  Grandfather  Hill,  revered  and  venerable,  gave  his  testi¬ 
mony  on  the  Sabbath  day,  and  my  tall,  gentle  Uncle  James,  his 
son,  extolled  the  grace  of  Christ.  Ever  since  I  began  to  speak 
in  public,  eighteen  years  ago,  I  had  greatly  wished  to  declare 
within  those  hallowed  and  historic  walls,  my  loyalty  to  Him.  But 
not  until  April,  1888,  did  my  time  come.  At  my  request,  dear 
mother  penciled  her  recollections  a  few  days  earlier  for  my  refer¬ 
ence  ;  they  read  as  follows  : 

The  people  that  came  from  Vermont  and  founded  what  was  then  called 
“  Gilman  settlement,”  brought  their  religion  with  them. 

Our  family  came  in  the  spring  of  1816,  and  meetings  were  held  in  the 
block-house  which  was  our  home,  as  well  as  in  other  private  houses  in  the 
winter  and  in  barns  during  the  summer.  Sometimes,  service  "was  held  in  the 
“  log  school-house,”  in  the  ”  stone  school-house,”  and  in  the  “  Bishop  school- 
house.”  Elder  Jonathan  Hinkley  was  our  first  pastor,  and  the  old  stone 
church  was  built  in  1832.  .John  Hill,  my  father,  J.  F.  Willard,  your  father, 
James  Hill,  your  uncle,  and  many  others,  were  those  who,  after  consultation, 
decided  to  build  this  house  of  worship,  and  it  was  not  long  before  it  was 
completed.  In  that  church  the  last  tribute  has  been  paid  and  the  final 
eulogy  pronounced  over  the  dearly  loved  and  tenderly  revered,  when  I  was 
far  away  ;  tears  have  fallen  that  I  could  not  witness,  and  hearts  have  been 
wrung  with  grief  in  which  I  participated  at  a  distance  and  alone.  Here  I 
have  heard  my  father’s  voice  in  prayer  and  praise,  and  I  remember  to  have 


“  Our  Old  Neighborhood .  ” 


629 


heard  my  dear  mother  in  monthly  meeting  with  much  emotion  bear  testi¬ 
mony  to  her  love  to  Christ,  and  my  brother  James  with  impressive  earnest- 
j  ness,  speak  of  his  firm  conviction  that  there  is  no  “other  name  either  in 
Heaven  or  among  men  ”  whereby  we  must  be  saved.  Many  others  have  I 
here  heard  speak  of  their  earnest,  abiding,  uplifting  trust  in  the  world’s 
Redeemer.  All  of  my  father’s  family  and  nearly  all  of  your  grandfather 
Willard’s,  belonged  to  that  old  church,  and  it  is  the  sacred  shrine  of  our 
two  households  and  of  many  others. 

\ 

My  mother  does  not  here  record  what  she  has  often  told  me, 
that  in  1829  my  father,  then  a  handsome,  popular  young  man, 
who,  while  he  was  noted  for  good  morals,  had  never  manifested 
any  interest  in  Christianity,  had  gone  to  the  neighborhood  prayer¬ 
meeting  in  the  “stone  school-house,”  now  demolished,  and  rising 
in  his  place  had  asked  for  prayers.  But  so  set  back  were  the 
people  that  for  a  moment  nobody  moved,  whereupon  he  fell  on 
his  knees  in  the  midst  of  the  group  and  poured  out  his  soul  with 
strong  cry ing  and  tears.  This  was  in  the  midst  of  ‘  ‘  harvest  time,  ’  ’ 
that  busiest  season  of  the  Western  New  York  farmer,  but  so  great 
was  the  resulting  interest  that  a  ‘  ‘  reformation  ’  ’  broke  out,  involv¬ 
ing  more  than  thirty  heads  of  families.  Almost  without  excep¬ 
tion,  the  older  households  of  Willard  and  Hill,  my  father’s  and 
mother’s  kindred,  were  already  members,  and  from  that  time  on, 
the  younger  were  strong  adherents  of  the  faith.  It  was  a  11011- 
sectarian  denomination,  gathered  from  Presbyterian,  Baptist, 
Methodist  and  Unitarian,  and  called  by  the  broadest  possible 
name,  “The  Church  of  God  in  Ogden.”  The  neighborhood  was 
of  the  best ;  a  profane  word  would  have  marked  a  man  as  ‘  ‘  below 
the  pauper  line,”  in  brain  and  social  .status.  A  drunkard  was 
unknown.  My  father’s  only  brother,  Zophar  Willard,  now  sev¬ 
enty-nine  years  old,  for  sixty  years  a  leader  in  the  community, 
assures  me  that  he  never  saw  a  drunken  man  until  he  was  seven¬ 
teen,  and  that  one  was  an  importation.  My  uncle  says  of  Grand¬ 
father  Hill  :  “  He  was  a  wonderful  exhorter  and  when  imbued  with 
the  Holy  Spirit,  the  tears  would  run  down  his  cheeks  and  a  holy 
unction  inspired  his  very  tones.  He  was  never  satisfied  except 
when  thus  broken  down  by  the  Spirit.  Once  he  felt  that  he  was 
not  as  helpful  in  the  meetings  as  he  wished  to  be  and  he  went 
home.  That  night  the  power  of  God  rested  so  mightily  upon 
him  that  his  whole  household,  wife  and  eight  children,  joined  with 
him  in  a  most  memorable  prayer-meeting.  He  was  a  marvelous 


630 


“  The  Old  Stone  Churchy 

man  in  prayer.  His  wife  was  one  of  the -Lord’s  saints.  She  was 
goodness  itself  and  a  mighty  power  in  talking.”  She  was  so 
spiritually-minded  that  she  would  talk  out  loud  to  herself  about 
God’s  beautiful  world,  for  she  seemed  to  hear  Him  breathing  in  all 
His  works.  Her  son  James  was  herself  over  again,  and  his  daugh¬ 
ter  Morilla  was  so  spiritual  that  she  seemed  not  to  belong  to  this 
world  and  when  she  died  she  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  presence 
of  angels  in  her  room.  My  gentle  Grandfather,  Oliver  A.  Willard, 
was  the  first,  Uncle  Janies  Hill,  second,  and  Cousin  Henry  Dusin- 
bury,  third  and  last  clerk,  of  the  Old  Stone  Church.  Uncle 
Zophar  Willard,  Uncle  Ward  Hall,  Cousins  John  and  Sheldon 
Hill  were  all  officially  connected  with  it. 

The  1 6th  of  April,  1888,  was  calm  and  sunshiny.  Uncle 
Willard’s  beautiful  home  on  the  hill  in  the  suburbs  of  Church- 
ville  gave  us,  as  so  often,  its  quiet  shelter,  and  though  we  missed 
the  loving  smile,  the  wit  and  brightness  of  dear  Aunt  Caroline, 
his  widowed  sister,  and  so  long  his  home-maker,  we  were  thor¬ 
oughly  content  in  the  care  of  the  noble,  genial  uncle,  who  had 
done  us  good  and  not  evil  all  the  days  of  our  lives.  In  the  morn¬ 
ing  we  went  with  him  to  the  Congregational  church  in  the  village, 
of  which  he  has  so  long  been  the  leading  spirit,  and  listened  to 
the  gifted  young  minister  in  whom  his  heart  rejoiced.  After 
dinner  we  drove  “up  North,”  where  we  had  delightful  calls  in 
the  pleasant,  well-to-do  homes  of  Aunt  Sarah  Hill  Hall  and 
Cousin  Sarah  Gilman  Dusinbury.  At  three  o’clock  we  all  gath¬ 
ered  at  the  church,  a  quaint  old  structure  standing  at  the  foot  of 
a  long,  graceful  slope  011  the  top  of  which  is  the  picturesque 
Willard  homestead  of  auld  lang  syne.  The  present  residents  of 
the  home,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Way,  with  Cousin  Sarah,  had  brightened 
and  beautified  the  old  sanctuary  with  an  improvised  setting  for 
the  platform,  of  carpet,  easy  chairs  and  potted  plants.  All  the 
relatives  and  neighbors  who  yet  remain,  with  many  new  ones, 
besides  youth  and  maiden,  boy  and  girl,  not  of  our  circle,  packed 
the  little  church,  and,  Uncle  Willard  presiding,  we  sang  the  old 
hymns  so  often  echoed  by  those  walls  from  voices  long  since 
silent.  “  How  firm  a  foundation,  ye  saints  of  the  Lord,”  “  Guide 
me,  O  Thou  great  Jehovah,”  and  “There  is  a  land  of  pure 
delight,”  seemed  tome  tenderly  to  invoke  the  spirit  of  the  sacred 
past.  Then  in  rich  tones  full  of  pathos,  my  Cousin  Sarah  read 


The  Gospel  of  Health. 


631 


the  ninetieth  Psalm,  “Lord,  thou  hast  been  our  dwelling  place 
'  in  all  generations,  ’  ’  and  the  Churchville  minister,  Rev.  Mr.  Mc¬ 
Connell,  led  in  prayer  with  a  brother’s  sympathy  for  all  that  the 
hour  signified  to  us.  After  that  I  frankly  told  the  kind  people  all 
my  heart,  taking,  ‘  ‘  The  Master  is  come  and  calleth  for  thee,  ’  ’  as 
a  text,  and  setting  what  I  tried  to  say  to  the  key  of 

“  We  are  traveling  home  to  God, 

In  the  way  our  fathers  trod.” 

I  told  them  what  Christianity  meant  to  my  heart,  and  what 
I  believed  it  meant  to  custom  and  law,  to  society  and  government. 
It  stirred  my  spirit  deeply  as  I  realized  in  some  small  measure 
what  it  signified  to  testify  as  one  of  the  cloud  of  witnesses  who 
belonged  to  the  same  household  of  faith  with  those  who  within 
these  walls  had  found  and  taught  the  unsearchable  riches  of 
Christ.  Born  of  a  Christian  race,  bred  in  a  Christian  home,  I 
dedicated  myself  anew  in  the  Old  Stone  Church  that  day  to 
Christ  and  to  His  Gospel,  vowing  that  by  His  grace  I  would  be 
in  this  and  every  world  where  I  might  live,  a  woman  whom  the 
Lord  could  trust. 


THE  GOSPEL  OF  HEALTH. 

It  was  my  remarkably  good  fortune  to  be  born  of  parents 
who  were  clean  from  the  alcohol  and  tobacco  taint,  and,  so  far  as 
I  can  trace  my  ancestry  through  several  generations,  there  was 
but  one  intemperate  person  in  the  ranks,  and  he  was  a  distant 
relative  out  of  the  direct  line.  It  was  also  my  unspeakable  privi¬ 
lege,  being  “only  a  girl,”  to  enjoy  the  utmost  freedom  from 
fashionable  restraints  up  to  my  seventeenth  year.  Clad  dur¬ 
ing  three  fourths  of  the  year  in  flannel  suits,  not  unlike  those 
worn  at  “gymnastics”  now  by  young  lady  collegians,  and 
spending  most  of  my  time  in  the  open  air,  the  companion  in  work 
as  well  as  in  sport  of  my  only  brother,  I  knew  much  more  about 
handling  rake  and  hoe  than  I  did  of  frying-pan  and  needle ;  knew 
the  name  and  use  of  every  implement  used  by  carpenter  and 
joiner;  could  chase  the  sheep  all  day  and  never  tire  ;  had  a  good 
knowledge  of  farming,  gardening,  and  the  like ;  wTas  an  enthusi¬ 
astic  poultry  raiser,  and  by  means  of  this  natural,  outdoor  life, 
eight  or  nine  hours’  sleep  in  twenty-four,  a  sensible  manner  of 
dress,  and  the  plain  fare  of  bread  and  butter,  vegetables,  eggs, 


632  The  Gospel  of  Longevity. 

milk,  fruit  and  fowl,  was  enabled  to  “store  up  electricity ”  for  the 
time  to  come. 

My  parents  lived  five  years  at  Oberlin  before  I  was  seven 
years  of  age,  at  the  time  when  ‘  ‘  Graliamites  ’  ’  were  popular,  and 
they  became  indoctrinated  with  many  of  the  ideas  of  Dr.  Jen¬ 
nings,  whose  “  Water  Cure  ”  book  my  father  was  fond  of  reading. 
As  a  result,  the  three  children  were  each  promised  a  library,  to 
cost  $100,  if  we  would  not  touch  tea  or  coffee  until  we  became  of 
age.  Subsequently  I  used  both  for  years,  very  moderately,  but 
have  now  almost  discarded  them.  A  physician  was  an  unknown 
visitant  to  our  home  in  early  days.  I  have  no  recollection 
of  such  a  personage  being  called  for  me  before  I  was  fourteen, 
and  although  my  mother  says  that,  when  an  infant,  I  wras  the 
feeblest  of  her  children,  I  have  outlived  all  the  family  except  her¬ 
self.  My  father  died  in  his  sixty-third  year,  and  my  mother  is 
now  in  her  eighty-fifth,  her  grandmother  having  lived  to  be  nearly 
ninety-seven,  and  the  ancestors  on  both  sides  being  remarkable 
for  their  longevity., 

I  never  saw  the  inside  of  a  school-house  until  near  my 
teens,  but  was  encouraged  to  read  and  study  somewhat  at  home, 
and  always  lived  in  an  intellectual  atmosphere,  my  parents  and 
our  few  friends  and  neighbors  being  persons  of  education  and 
earnestness  of  purpose.  Although  my  first  school  was  in  a*  coun¬ 
try  district,  the  teacher  was  a  graduate  of  Yale,  and  had  been  for 
years  a  classical  tutor  in  Oberlin  College.  My  parents  were  of 
Puritanical  training  as  to  Sabbath  observance,  and  I  count  its 
rhythmic  period  of  rest,  as  well  as  the  late  beginning  of  my  school 
days,  an  element  in  the  health  antecedents  here  enumerated.  I 
have  written  thus  in  detail  of  what  might  be  popularly  termed 
the  “  indirect  reasons  ”  for  my  life-long  good  health,  because  my 
study  of  the  temperance  question  teaches  me  that  heredity  and 
early  training  are  the  most  direct  ‘  ‘  procuring  causes  ’  ’  of  physi¬ 
cal  soundness. 

I  am  now  in  my  fiftieth  year,  and  though,  since  sharing  the 
great  and  varied  disabilities  of  a  more  conventional  life,  I  have 
had  two  acute  illnesses  and  several  slight  ones,  my  health  is  so 
uniform  that  I  have  often  laughingly  told  my  friends  I  had  com¬ 
posed  the  first  line  of  my  4  4  great  epic,  ’  ’  and  it  is  this  : 


“Painless,  in  a  world  of  pain.” 


The  Eight-hour  Law  of  Sleep. 


633 


The  chief  wonder  of  my  life  is  that  I  dare  to  have  so  good  a  time, 
both  physically,  mentally  and  religiously.  I  have  swung  like  a 
pendulum  through  my  years,  “without  haste,  without  rest.” 
What  it  would  be  to  have  an  idle  hour  I  find  it  hard  to  fancy. 
With  no  headache,  why  should  I  not  think  “right  straight 
ahead  ”  ?  My  whole  life  has  been  spent  in  intellectual  activities, 
having  begun  to  teach  when  about  twenty  years  of  age,  and  having 
pursued  that  difficult  avocation  with  no  set-back  or  breakdowm  until 
I  dedicated  myself  to  the  Temperance  Reform  in  1874.  (I  should 
except  about  two  3^ears  and  a  half  of  hard  study,  writing  and 
travel  in  Europe  and  the  East  between  1868  and  1870.)  In  the 
last  twelve  years  I  have  been  perpetually  “on  the  road,”  going 
15,000  to  20,000  miles  per  year,  visiting  in  1883  every  state  and 
territory  in  the  Union  and  holding  a  meeting  once  per  day  on  an 
average  throughout  the  entire  period.  It  has  been  my  custom  to 
write  articles  and  letters  and  plan  work,  all  day  long  on  the  cars, 
being  thus  constantly  employed,  and  then  to  give  an  address 
at  night. 

Now,  I  am  aware  that  this  is  not  a  hygienic  mode  of  pro¬ 
cedure,  and  that  to  breathe  car-air  and  audience-atmosphere,  year 
in  and  year  out,  is  not  conducive  to  the  best  development.  But 
it  was  the  only  way  for  me  to  reach  the  one  thousand  towns  set 
as  my  “stint  ”  (a  farm  fashion  we  had,  this  of  “  doing  our  stint,” 
persisted  in  as  an  inherited  tendency),  and  feeling  so  adequate  to 
the  day’s  doings,  I  went  steadily  on,  taking  the  opportunity  to 
recline  in  the  quiet  of  my  apartment,  between  the  meetings,  stat¬ 
ing  to  my  friends  that  visiting  was  impossible  to  me,  and  making 
it  an  invariable  rule  to  go  directly  from  the  platform  to  my  room. 
Here  a  cup  of  bread  and  milk,  a  cracker,  or  a  few  spoonfuls  of 
beef-tea  were  taken  in  order  to  .set  up  a  counteraction  to  the 
movements  of  the  brain,  and  I  went  to  sleep  a  few  minutes  after 
going  to  my  room,  usually  getting  eight  hours,  in  every  twenty- 
four,  of  ‘  ‘  tired  nature’ s  sweet  restorer.  ’  ’  A  bright  Chicago  woman 
said  to  me  when  I  told  her  this,  “  You  acted  according  to  the  prov¬ 
erb,  ‘He  who  fights  and  runs  away,  may  live  to  fight  another 
day,’  for  I  interpret  that  to  mean,  ‘  He  who  runs  away  promptly 
at  nightfall  from  the  day’s  warfare  will  live  to  plunge,  into  the 
fight  next  morning,  and  so  on  from  year  to  year,  and  will  be  a 
victor  always.’  ” 


634 


The  Gospel  of  Exercise. 


My  rising  hour  has  long  been  from  seven  to  half-past  (I  wish 
it  were  earlier),  and  retiring,  anywhere  from  half-past  seven  to  half¬ 
past  nine  ;  but  when  traveling,  it  has  been  about  ten.  I  regard 
that  hour  as  the  dead  line  of  recuperation,  vigor  and  sustained 
mental  activity.  Eight  hours  of  writing  and  study,  all  of  them 
between  breakfast  and  tea,  has  been  my  rule.  After  the  evening 
meal  at  six  o’clock  I  will  not  work — lecturing-,  of  course,  ex¬ 
cepted.  In  this  field  I  have  studied  the  non-dramatic  style,  be¬ 
cause  it  is  less  wearing  and  fully  as  well  adapted  to  purposes  of- 
information  and  conviction.  Illustrations  can  be  used  that  involve 
but  little  acting,  thus  keeping  the  circulation  normal,  avoiding 
the  exposures  that  attend  perspiration,  and  the  reaction  resulting 
from  undue  fatigue. 

My  manner  of  life  has  recently  been  changed  from  peripatetic 
to  stationary,  and  my  purpose  is,  for  the  next  ten  years,  at  least, 
should  God  spare  my  life  so  long,  to  live  in  my  quiet  cottage 
home  at  Evanston,  in  the  suburbs  of  Chicago,  with  my  mother 
and  a  dozen  secretaries,  and  help  to  spread  the  temperance  propa¬ 
ganda  by  pen  instead  of  voice.  I  expect,  as  a  rule,  to  sit  at  my 
desk  from  8:30  or  9:00  A.  m.,  until  6:00  p.  m.,  daily,  with  a  half- 
hour’s  interval  from  12:30  to  1  :oo  o’clock,  with  the  exception  of  an 
outing  of  about  half  an  hour.  The  tricycle  for  open  air  purposes 
and  Dr.  Dio  Lewis’s  home  exerciser  within  doors,  are  my  basis  of 
gymnastic  operations.  Walking  I  delighted  in  when  I  could  go 
unimpeded  ;  but  from  the  sorrowful  day  when  my  hair  was  first 
twisted  up  and  long  skirt  twisted- down,  I  have  never  enjoyed  that 
noble  form  of  exercise,  and  I  have  met  very  few  women  in  this 
country  who  really  walk  at  all.  Wrigglers,  hobblers,  amblers,  and 
gliders  I  am  familiar  with  among  the  ways  of  women,  but  walking 
is  an  art  hereditarily  lost  to  our  sex. 

“  ’Tis  true,  ’tis  pity,  and  pity  ’tis,  ’tis  true  !  ” 

I  never  touch  the  pen  after  tea,  and  ten  o’clock  finds  our 
house  dark  as  a  pocket,  silent  as  a  tomb,  and  restful  as  a  cradle. 
To  this  single  fact  more  than  all  others,  excepting  fortunate  inheri¬ 
tance,  I  attribute  my  life-long  good  health  and  cheery  spirits. 

I  lia,ve  not  jotted  down  these  personal  items  because  I  think 
my  methods  specially  noteworthy  or  by  any  means  faultless. 
Hoping  that  we  may  learn  the  health  decalogue  of  our  Heav- 


Heaven  Speed  the  ‘  ‘  Dress  Reform.  ’  ’ 


635 


enly  Father  so  thoroughly,  and  be  so  loyal  to  it  that  we  shall  all 
become  as  hearty  and  as  happy  as,  I  am  sure  by  the  analogies  of 
Nature  and  the  teachings  of  grace,  He  meant  us  to  be,  I  hereby 
declare  myself  willing  to  live  a  century  and  work  right  on. 

But  I  must  confess  that  after  my  long  day’s  task  with  the 
pen,  I  say  to  myself  often,  “  If  I  could  put  on  a  hat,  button  a  coat 
around  me,  and  step  off  freely,  how  delightful  a  walk  would  be.” 
But  no  ;  there  are  intricate  preliminaries  before  a  woman  can  do 
anything  so  simple  as  take  a  constitutional.  In  my  own  case,  the 
easy  wrapper  that  I  wear  at  my  work  must  be  changed  for  a  street 
dress,  with  its  long,  heavy  skirt ;  the  slippers,  for  shoes  to  be  but¬ 
toned  up  ;  a  bonnet  affording  no  protection  from  light,  wind,  or 
observation,  must' be  “tastefully”  put  on;  tight-fitting  gloves 
drawn  to  their  places,  and  then  only,  with  skirts  to  be  lifted  at 
every  step  until  one’s  knees  grow  weary,  the  airing  may  begin. 
A  man  would  have  two  things  to  do — put  on  his  coat  and 
crowd  a  hat  over  his  eyes  ;  a  woman  has  three  articles  to  take  off 
(wrapper  and  slippers),  dress  to  draw  on,  collar  and  cuffs  to  adjust 
and  pin,  shoes  to  button,  wrap  to  fasten,  bonnet  to  tie,  and  then 
all  of  their  burdens  and  constrictions  to  endure. 

So,  for  the  thousandth  time,  I  return  to  my  room,  actually 
too  tired  to  “  get  ready”  and  then  “  get  over  the  ground,”  though 
Lake  Michigan’s  splendid  expanse  stretches  away  to  the  east, 
and  there  are  cool,  shady  nooks,  and  tempting  by-ways  all  about 
me.  I  recognize  joyfully  the  progress  we  have  made  since  I  was 
a  student,  when  no  girl  was  really  “st}dish  ”  who  wore  less  than 
eight  white  skirts  trailing  on  the  ground  after  her  ;  but  how  slowly 
we  move  when  women  of  refinement  will  wear  bustles,  lace  them¬ 
selves  as  of  old,  pinch  hands  and  feet,  bare  their  heads  to  the  blast 
that  their  tufts  of  bonnets  may  be  “like  the  rest,”  and  simper 
their  criticisms  on  “  dress  reform.”  Near  me  on  the  walls  of  my 
study  hang  Annie  Jenness-Miller’s  picture  and  engravings  of  her 
new  costumes.  I  look  up  at  them  with  a  prayerful  heart, 
saying,  “  How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long?  ” 

Instead  of  the  walk  I  would  like  to  take,  had  I  the  old-time 
conditions — the  modest,  simple,  short  dress,  loose  jacket,  and 
broad-rimmed  hat  ofauld  lang  syne — I  pen  this  jeremiad,  and  bid 
God-speed  to  the  earnest-hearted  woman  who,  in  roaring  Gotham, 
plans  for  us  women  a  costume  that  hints  at  better  days. 


636 


The  Mind- cure. 


“prove  all  things.” 

I  am  often  asked  what  I  think  about  the  mental  method,  mind- 
cure,  Christian  science,  or  whatever  may  be  the  most  appropriate 
term,  and  I  have  been  warned  repeatedly  against  it  by  excellent  and 
trusted  friends.  However,  I  cannot  see  in  it  the  danger  that  many 
do.  We  live  in  a  strangely  materialistic  age,  when  thought  is 
declared  to  be  a  secretion  of  the  brain,  and  revelation  looked  upon 
as  nothing  but  a  myth.  Thousands  of  well  intentioned  persons  had 
come  to  the  end  of  the  rope  and'  were  beating  their  heads  against 
a  stone  wall,  finding  no  mode  of  egress  into  the  upper  air  of  spirit¬ 
uality  and  faith.  It  seems  to  me  that  just  because  the  world  had 

gone  so  far,  and  had  so  largely  become  a  victim  to  the  theory  that 

% 

only  seeing  is  believing,  the  Heavenly  Powers  brought  in  this 
great  reaction,  which  declared  that  the  invisible  is  all  and  in  all, 
that  thoughts  are  the  real  things  and  things  are  but  effervescent 
shadows  ;  that  there  is  no  escape  from  what  is  infinitely  good 
and  infinitely  immanent  in  everything  created ;  that  evil  is  a 
negation  and  must  pass  away  ;  that  to  be  carnally  minded  is 
death,  but  to  be  spiritually  minded  is  life  and  peace.  I  have 
never  .studied  the  question  seriously,  because  I  have  not  had  the 
time,  but  from  conversation  with  experts  in  this  study,  who  are 
also  among  the  best  men  and  women  I  have  ever  known,  I  have 
certainly  felt  that  it  would  be  disloyalty  to  God  and  to  humanity 
for  me  to  speak  against  this  new  era.  That  some  who  have  entered 
upon  it  are  not  genuine  ;  that  some  eases  of  cure  are  not  actual, 
must  necessarily  be,  in  so  great  a  movement ;  there  must  be  a 
counterfeit  beside  the  real,  but  I  am  confident  that  if  Christians 
will  take  what  is  good  in  this  new  evangel  and  eschew  what  is 
evil,  it  may  become  a  mighty  power  for  the  triumph  of  Him  who 
said:  “  My  words  are  spirit  and  they  are  life.” 

Something  analogous  to  this  seems  to  be  true  of  theosophy, 
and  the  occult  studies  that  have  come  to  us  from  those  wonderful 
religions  of  the  East,  that  furnished  the  soil  out  of  which  grew  the 
tree  of  life — Christianity.  “  God  hath  not  left  Himself  without  a 
witness”  anywhere.  A  philosophy  that  takes  immortality  as  its 
major  premise  must  conduct  toward  a  good  life,  as  opposed  to  the 
materialism  that  says,  “  I  was  not — I  lived  and  loved — I  am  not” 
— the  saddest  epitaph  ever  penned. 


Loyalty  to  Friends . 


637 


COMPANIONSHIPS. 

If  I  have  a  virtue  in  the  world,  it  is  loyalty  to  old  memories 
and  old  friends,  and  nothing  rejoices  me  so  much  as  to  have  this 
trait  believed  in  by  those  who  walk  with  me  the  path  of  life. 
One  dear  lady  who  had  been  my  teacher  thirty  years  before,  died 
in  1886,  and  her  son  wrote  me  that  she  had  mentioned  to  him  in 
her  last  days,  her  belief  that  I  would  gladly  write  the  notice  for 
our  church  paper.  The  request  came  to  me  with  a  sense  of  solid 
satisfaction  that  she  had  so  believed  in  me  when  we  had  hardly 
once  met  since  I  was  her  scholar  in  the  little  district  school  near 
Forest  Home.  It  did  my  heart  good  to  turn  aside  from  my 
pressing  cares  to  write  the  In  Memoriam  she  had  desired. 

With  my  naturally  adventurous  disposition  I  fear  that  but  for 
a  strenuously  guarded  girlhood  I  might  have  wandered  into  hope¬ 
less  unbelief.  But  I  recall  only  one  reckless  friend  in  all  my  life, 
and  I  was  with  her  but  a  single  term  at  school.  Christian 
women  have  been  my  constant  and  intimate  associates  through¬ 
out  my  pilgrimage  and  Christian  men  have  been  like  loyal 
brothers  to  me  always.  Beyond  every  other  influence  outside 
my  home,  I  reckon  that  of  a  circle  within  which  I  have  moved  for 
well-nigh  fifty  years,  made  up  of  persons  who  were  chaste,  totally 
abstinent,  truth-telling,  philanthropic  and  devout. 

“Tell  me  with  whom  thou  goest  and  I’ll  tell  thee  what  thou 
doest.”  No  precept  was  ever  more  frequently  repeated  and  en¬ 
forced  by  my  parents  than  this.  In  guarding  Mary  and  me  from 
illiterate  and  harmful  associations  my  father  evinced  a  solicitude 
that  many  of  his  friends  considered  morbid.  But  he  would  smile 
and  say,  “  These  are  ‘Two  forest  nymphs  that  dwell  in  the  depth 
of  the  woodland  shade,’  and  I  propose  to  keep  them  innocent .” 
So  we  never  went  anywhere  except  with  our  parents  until  I  was 
sixteen,  and  almost  never,  after  that,  until  fully  fledged  and  flown. 
Even  my  brother  was  eighteen  years  of  age  before  he  ever  spent  an 
evening  away  from  home.  Around  the  fireside  we  were  always 
busy  with  books,  pencils  and  plans  until  the  early  hour  of  bed-time 


63S 


Mv  First  Inamorata. 


came.  We  were  literally  never  left  alone  with  children  or  work 
people  ;*  there  was  always  quiet  but  careful  supervision.  “  Hered¬ 
ity  may  count  for  much,  but  environment  is  next  of  kin  to 
destiny  these  are  my  mother’s  words  at  eighty-four,  the  outcome 
of  her  observant  and  reflective  life.  Who,  then,  have  entered  the 
inner  circle  of  my  confidence  in  fifty  years  ?  I  ask  myself  and 
answer  with  deep  thankfulness  :  All  who  have  done  so  meant  to 
be  good,  sought  after  goodness,  lifted  their  eyes  toward  the  heights 
rather  than  lowered  them  to  the  level  of  the  depths.  Only  two 
persons,  one  of  them  a  child  and  one  a  girl  in  her  early  teens,  ever 
said  to  me  things  that  w^ere  calculated  to  mar  the  purity  of  my 

thoughts  in  the  formative  }^ears  of  my  life,  and  these  were  neither 

* 

of  them  persons  who  had  influence  with  me  or  the  ability  to 
determine  my  actions  or  opinions.  To  their  everlasting  honor  be 
it  said  that  the  many  men  and  women  who  worked  in  our  home 
and  on  our  farm,  never  tried  in  word  or  deed  to  lead  us  astray. 
But  I  have  always  felt  that  he  who  is  forewarned  is  best  fore¬ 
armed,  and  wished  that  my  first  ideas  concerning  the  mysteries  of 
being  had  come  early  to  my  observant  spirit  from  my  dear 
mother’s  lips,  which  were  closed  by  her  reticent  New  England 
habitudes. 

Meanwhile,  there  was  the  heart,  the  ardent,  impulsive  heart 
of  childhood  and  of  youth,  with  its  perpetual  instinct  of  bestow- 
ment,  what  did  it  do  ?  I  remember  with  pleasant  pain  how 
early,  how  vigorously  and  often  that  truant  heart  went  forth, 
seeking  rest  and  finding  none  !  I  was  hardly  six  years  old  when 
the  flame  of  the  ideal  burned  in  my  breast  for  a  .sweet  girl  of  six¬ 
teen,  Maria  Hill  by  name,  daughter  of  “Secretary  Hill,’’  an 
English  gentleman  who  was  a  central  figure  in  the  College  Board 
at  Oberlin.  Her  coming  meant  a  new  world,  her  going  shrouded 
my  little  life  in  gloom,  but  she  never  dreamed  of  this — she  only 
saw  an  impetuous  child  whose  papa  had  (as  was  the  custom  in 
those  days  of  the  hygienic  revival)  induced  the  little  one  not  to 
eat  butter,  and  paid  her  a  penny  a  week  for  such  sacrifice,  and 
who  was  so  determined  “  to  give  her  pennies  to  Miss  Hill  ’’  that 
when  the  young  lady  declared  that  she  could  on  no  account 
accept  them,  the  child  flung  them  after  her  retreating  form  upon 

♦Margaret  Ryan,  an  Irish  girl  that  lived  with  us  for  years,  was  an  exception  to  this  rule, 
but  then  she  was  as  refined  as  she  was  good  “  and  her  uncle  was  Bishop  of  L,imerick!” 


That  Soft ,  White  Hand.” 


639 


<  c 


the  gravel  walk  and  burst  out  crying.  That  was  my  first  “  heart 
affair,”  and  I  have  had  fifty  since  as  surely  as  I  had  that  one. 
I  have  had  the  subtle  sense  of  an  affinity  for  persons  of  all  ages 
and  conditions,  for  man  and  woman,  youth  and  maiden,  boy  and 
girl.  The  solar  system  has  for  a  season  seemed  to  revolve  around 
each  one  of  these  beloved  objects  and  for  each  of  them  I  have 
endured  all  stages  of  the  divine  disease  that  was  meant,  as  I 
believe,  to  acclimate  us  to  heaven.  They  pass  me  now  in  bright 
array,  my  choice  procession  of  immortals  ;  how  can  I  ‘  ‘  express 
unblamed  ’  ’  so  much  of  sweetness  and  of  nobility  as  they  in  turn 
enshrined  for  me  ?  After  Maria  Hill  the  hiatus  was  long:.  Nature 
became  my  one  dear  love  and  for  many  a  youthful  year  I  knew 
no  other,  needed  none. 

Then  came  the  vision  of  my  cousin  Mary  G. ,  several  years  my 
senior,  self-poised  and  gracious,  little  dreaming  of  the  commotion 
that  her  presence  stirred  in  the  wayward  heart  of  her  Western 
cousin  then  in  her  fifteenth  year,  who  coming  back  to  the  old 
home  at  the  East,  met  for  the  first  time  since  infancy  a  troop  of 
relatives  unknown  before  except  by  name.  My  boy  cousins  I 
liked,  my  other  girl  cousins  I  loved,  but  for  my  cousin  Mary  I  felt 
nothing  less  than  worship.  She  had  such  royal  dignity  and  .she 
knew  books  and  she  was  good — so  I  said  to  myself  a  thousand 
times  over,  but  she  thought  not  of my  devotion  and  I  was  far  too 
shy  to  tell  her.  That  soft,  white  hand  on  mine  seemed  to  complete 
the  circuit  that  brought  me  into  harmony  with  the  electric  tides  of 
God’s  great  universe  ;  life  was  full  to  the  brim  and  its  rich  draught 
I  drank  with  solemn  joy.  But  in  two  weeks  we  came  away  and 
the  star  I  would  have  followed  faded  to  a  spent  meteor  within  a 
year.  Next  came  the  sweet-faced  blind  girl,  Carrie,  with  her  gift 
of  music,  sending  my  blithe  spirit  up  to  heaven’s  gate,  but  soon 
she  went  away;  then  Anna  C.,  the  superintendent’s  daughter,  but 
she  liked  my  sister  Mary  best  and  my  budding  hopes  were  swiftly 
nipped,  then  my  blind  music  teacher,  a  young  married  man  of 
beautiful  nature,  who  was  wont  to  make  his  way  alone  down  to 
our  house,  which  was  a  mile  from  his,  and  I  was  wont  to  watch 
for  him  at  the  gate  and  go  to  meet  him  up  the  road.  But  so  did 
sister  Maiy.  and  never  in  the  world  by  voice  or  sign  had  he  reason 
to  believe  that  the  elder  sister’s  greeting  had  more  back  of  it  than 
the  child-like  good  cheer  of  the  younger’ s.  Carefully  as  I  had 


640 


A  Young  Girl's  Self-Respect . 


been  reared,  I  had  no  special  sense  of  sin  in  dreaming  of  this  young 
man’s  loveliness.  I  knew  that  he  would  never  be  the  wiser  nor 
would  the  woman  he  loved  be  grieved  ;  she  was  my  friend  and  I 
was  hidden  utterly  from  both  of  them  in  my  eye-and-ear-proof 
armor  woven  of  mingled  cheerfulness  and  pride.  Erelong  he,  too, 
went  away,  and  the  next  enshrined  ideal  of  my  life  was  Marion, 
“whose  soul  was  like  a  star  and  dwelt  apart,”  the  high-bred  girl 
with  whom  in  1857  I  contested  the  palm  for  scholarship  in  Mil¬ 
waukee  Female  College;  then  Susie  B.,  the  rich  merchant’s 
daughter  in  that  same  city,  who  was  a  very  Saint  Cecilia  to  my 
ardent  fancy  ;  and  then  Maggie  H.,  of  early  Evanston  fame,  the 
“  wild  girl  ”  of  the  school,  whom  I  followed  to  the  extent  of  being 
a  “law  unto  myself”  as  to  the  rules,  but  from  whom  I  recoiled 
with  absolute  rage  when  without  any  hint  to  me  she  arranged 
for  us  to  take  a  surreptitious  moonlight  horseback  ride  with  Hart, 
a  certain  gay  Lothario  of  the  University,  and  his  friend  Will. 
Ignorantly  I  entered  into  her  plot  enough  to  walk  out  in  the 
College  grounds  while  all  the  teachers  were  at  prayer-meeting — a 
thing  we  had  no  right  to  do.  But  when,  in  the  most  shadowed 
part,  two  young  men  rose  before  us,  I  dropped  her  arm  and  fled 
back  to  the  college  building  like  a  startled  fawn.  For  this  affront 
I  refrained  from  speaking  to  my  inamorata  for  three  weeks,  but 
finally  made  up  our  difficulty  when  she  admitted  that  I  was  right 
in  saying  that  no  “  self-respecting  girl  would  ever  make  a  clandes¬ 
tine  appointment  of  any  kind  with  a  young  man.”  It  was  my 
mother’s  fear  lest  this  young  woman,  who  was  most  attractive, 
would  get  a  stronger  hold  on  me,  that  led  her,  after  I  tol'd  the 
whole  story  on  going  back  to  Forest  Home,  to  determine  that  she 
would  give  my  father  no  rest  until  he  left  the  farm  and  came  to 
Evanston  to  live.  Here  I  met  Mary  B.,  for  whom  my  attachment 
was  so  great  that  when  she  very  properly  preferred  my  brother, 
although  I  had  devotedly  desired  their  union,  the  loss  of  her  was 
nothing  less  than  a  bereavement,  a  piteous  sorrow  for  a  year  and 
more,  as  my  journals  testify,  one  of  the  keenest  of  my  life,  to 
which  the  death  of  my  only  sister  Mary  put  a  sudden,  and  as  I 
have  always  thought,  a  well-nigh  miraculous  end,  while  our 
sisterly  affection  has  remained  intact.  Other  attachments  fol¬ 
lowed,  so  much  less  restful  than  friendships,  that  I  can  not  fairly 
call  them  by  that  consoling  name.  Their  objects  were  good 


My  Benefactor  and  His  Daughter.  641 

women  all,  tliank  God  !  and  the  only  trouble  was  not  that  we 
loved  unwisely,  but  too  well.  They  are  all  written  in  the  records 
of  those  days.  One  of  them,  dating  from  1864,  led  to  my  trip 
abroad  with  all  its  riches  of  observation,  study,  and  acquaint¬ 
ance.  A  more  loyal  heart  never  beat  than  that  of  Kate  A.  Jack- 
son,  who,  though  a  rich  man’s  daughter,  went  with  me  to  Lima  as 
a  teacher  when  I  was  (in  1867)  preceptress  of  Genesee  Wesleyan 
Seminary,  and  afterward  took  the  French  professor’s  place  in 
Northwestern  University,  leaving  there  whenj  did,  in  1874.  Her 
father  was  founder  of  the  New  Jersey  Locomotive  Works,  at 
Paterson,  a  sturdy-natured,  generous-hearted  man,  who  freely 
adopted  his  daughter’s  suggestion  that  she  and  I  make  a  long  tour 
together,  for 

“  We  determined  to  go  abroad , 

To  go  abroad ,  strange  countries  for  to  see.” 

We  stayed  over  two  years,  since  which  time  Kate  has 
spent  six  years  more  in  foreign  lands,  but  has  come  home  at  last, 
living,  with  her  accomplished  sister,  Mrs.  Dr.  Whitely,  and  that 
lady’s  two  charming  young  people,  next  door  to  us.  There  are 
several  other  good  and  gifted  women  whom  I  might  name  as 
having  belonged  to  my  inner  circle  of  affection  at  some  time  in  my 
life;  but  in  Anna  A.  Gordon,  a  lovely  Boston  girl,  whom  I  met 
when  conducting  revival  meetings  with  Mr.  Moody,  in  1877,  I 
found  the  rarest  of  my  intimate  friends.  For  twelve  years  she  has 
been  at  once  a  solace  and  support  in  all  my  undertakings.  I  call 
her  “Little  Heart’s-ease,”  for,  as  she  knows,  I  have  struggled 
through  the  depths  and  come  out  on  their  Beulah  side  ;  have 
voyaged  through  roaring  storms  to  emerge  at  last  in  the  region  of 
perpetual  calm;  and  as  I  am  so  much  her  senior  she  seems  quite 
sure  to  be  my  loved  and  last. 

The  loves  of  women  for  each  other  grow  more  numerous  each 
day,  and  I  have  pondered  much  why  these  things  were.  That  so 
little  should  be  said  about  them  surprises  me,  for  they  are  every¬ 
where.  Perhaps  the  “Maids  of  Llangollen,”  (in  Wales)  afford 
the  most  conspicuous  example ;  two  women,  young  and  fair,  with 
money  and  position,  who  ran  away  together,  refusing  all  offers 
to  return,  and  spent  their  happy  days  in  each  other’s  calm  com¬ 
panionship  within  the  home  they  there  proceeded  to  establish. 
Tourists  visit  the  spot  where  they  once  dwelt,  to  praise  their 
41 


642 


The  Loves  of  Women. 


constancy  and  sigh  for  the  peace  that  they  enjoyed.  In  these 
days,  when  any  capable  and  careful  woman  can  honorably  earn 
her  own  support,  there  is  no  village  that  has  not  its  examples 
of  “  two  heads  in  counsel,”  both  of  which  are  feminine.  Often¬ 
times  these  joint-proprietors  have  been  unfortunately  married, 
and  so  have  failed  to  “  better  their  condition  ”  until,  thus  clasp¬ 
ing  hands,  they  have  taken  each  other  “  for  better  or  for  worse.” 
These  are  the  tokens  of  a  transition  age.  Drink  and  tobacco  are 
to-day  the  great  separatists  between  women  and  men.  Once  they 
used  these  things  together,  but  woman’s  evolution  has  carried 
her  beyond  them  ;  man  will  climb  to  the  same  level  .some  day, 
but  meanwhile  he  thinks  he  must  have  his  dinners  from  which 
woman  is  excluded  and  his  club-house  with  whose  delights  she 
intermeddleth  not.  Indeed,  the  fact  that  he  permits  himself  fleshly 
indulgences  that  he  would  deprecate  in  her,  makes  their  planes 
different,  giving  him  a  sense  of  larger  liberty  and  her  an  instinct 
of  revulsion.  This  has  gone  so  far  on  man’s  part  that  a  learned 
writer  has  a  treatise  to  prove  the  existence  of  organic  reasons  why 
men  were  made  to  drink  and  smoke,  but  women  not !  This 
opinion  sets  up  a  standard  that  influences  the  minds  of  men  who 
do  not  use  these  poisons,  and  thus  extends  the  domain  of  the 
most  harmful  separating  force  that  to-day  alienates  so  many  men 
and  women.  It  is  safe  to  claim  that  among  the  leading  advo¬ 
cates  of  woman’s  advancement,  and  of  an  equal  standard  of  chas¬ 
tity  for  both  sexes,  we  do  not  find  tobacco  users  or  drinkers  of 
beer  and  wine. 

The  friendships  of  women  are  beautiful  and  blessed  ;  the 
loves  of  women  ought  not  to  be,  and  will  not  be,  when  the  sacred 
purposes  of  the  temperance,  the  labor,  and  the  woman  movements 
are  wrought  out  into  the  customs  of  society  and  the  laws  of  the 
land.  For  the  highest  earthly  good  that  can  come  to  any  indi¬ 
vidual,  or  home,  or  state,  or  to  humanity,  is  told  in  the  poet 
Thomson’s  lines  : 

“  Oh  happy  they,  the  happiest  of  our  race, 

Whom  gentle  stars  unite  and  in  one  fate, 

Their  lives,  their  fortunes,  and  their  beings  blend.” 

With  a  belief  so  orthodox,  why  did  I  miss  life’s  crowning 
joy?  Surely  a  serene  heart,  now  closed  forever  (on  the  planet 
Earth)  to  love’s  delirium  or  delight,  may  tell  its  secret  for  the 


“ The  Most  Occult  of  Dreams .” 


*43 


help  of  those  less  way-wise  ?  One  of  my  early  friends  was  wont  to 
call  me  “Opal,”  because  that  jewel  has  an  edge  of  snow  and 
heart  of  flame.  When  I  told  my  dear  mother,  going  home  from 
my  first  term  at  Evanston,  that  I  had  written  thus  to  Maggie  : 
‘  *  I  love  you  more  than  life,  better  than  God,  more  than  I  dread 
damnation!”  that  great  philosopher  exclaimed,  “Oh,  Frank! 
pray  Heaven  you  may  never  love  a  man  !  ” 

But  her  prayer  was  not  answered  —  for  I  have  been  so  fortu¬ 
nate  as  to  fancy,  at  least,  that  I  loved  a  man, —  nay,  more 
than  one. 

When  I  was  but  fourteen,  a  brilliant  young  scientist  came 
on  a  brief  visit  to  our  family.  Of  course  he  never  knew  it,  ele¬ 
gant  fellow  that  he  was,  but  for  many  a  day  I  dreamed  dreams 
and  saw  visions  of  which  he  was  the  central  figure.  No  one 
supposed  this,  not  my  own  mother,  even  ;  though  I  have  always 
claimed  that  she  knew  my  every  thought  —  however,  this  was 
not  a  thought — only  the  most  occult  of  dreams  !  We  lived  so 
much  alone  that  I  was  almost  nineteen  before  the  slightest  token 
of  interest  came  to  me  from  beyond  the  mystic  line  that  a  virtu¬ 
ous  woman’s  glances  may  not  cross.  This  epoch  in  my  history 
took  the  form  of  a  carefully  written  note,  sent  through  the  post- 
office,  inviting  me  to  go  to  a  student’s  entertainment,  and  the 
missive  came  soon  after  we  removed  to  Evanston.  It  was  passed 
around  as  a  rare  curiosity,  and  the  wisdom  of  the  family  was 
combined  in  my  discreet  affirmative  reply.  I  took  the  young  man’s 
arm  with  feelings  akin  to  terror,  for  it  was  the  first  time  in  my 
life.  At  the  evening’s  close  I  noticed  that  he  and  I  were  almost 
the  only  ones  remaining.  He  said  reluctantly,  ‘  ‘  I  beg  your  par¬ 
don,  but  is  it  not  time  for  me  to  take  you  home  ?  ”  Alas  !  the 
wise  ones  of  the  family  circle  had  not  supposed  it  necessary  to 
tell  me  I  must  give  the  signal  to  return,  and  I  was  morbidly 
afraid  of  seeming  ‘  ‘  forward  ’  ’ ! 

At  this  distance  I  understand  the  situation — I  only  felt  it  then. 
Of  a  forceful  mind  and  an  imperious  will,  it  was  not  natural 
for  me  to  fall  into  a  passive  attitude  toward  anybody.  Hav¬ 
ing  so  long  had  great  Nature  for  my  teacher,  and  country  free¬ 
dom  as  my  atmosphere,  the  sudden  conventionalities  of  societ}"  set 
heavily  upon  me.  Without  knowing  it,  I  felt  that  her  code  did 
not  deal  with  me  justly.  Her  dictum  was  that  no  well-bred, 


644 


The  Ineffable  Compliment. 


delicate-natured  woman  would  ever  let  any  man  living  know 
she  had  a  gentle  thought  of  him  until  he  gave  the  sign.  And  I 
had  said  in  my  inmost  spirit,  not  in  so  many  words,  but  by  just 
such  a  vow,  “  You  heartless  old  tyrant  of  custom,  since  you  have 
dared  thus  basely  to  decree,  hazarding  the  holiest  interests  of 
two  lives  on  the  perceptions  of  the  one  less  finely  organized,  you 
shall  have  full  measure  of  obedience,”  and  no  actor,  no  detective, 
no  alias  ever  schooled  himself  more  sedulously  to  carry  out  his 
part,  than  I  did  to  be  utterly  impassive,  to  treat  all  men  alike, 
with  universal  calm,  with  casual  good-will,  and  that  alone. 

And  have  men  dared,  when  all  these  stern  defenses  were  set 
in  array,  to  speak  their  potent  word  to  one  like  me  ?  Yes,  but 
under  such  conditions  it  “stands  to  reason”  that  most  of  the 
messages  received  must  have  been  perfunctory,  the  queries  com¬ 
ing  by  letter  and  being  answered  by  my  secretaries  with  the  official 
statement  that  I  had  no  time  for  other  than  business  correspond¬ 
ence.  But  so  high  has  always  been  my  admiration  and  respect 
for  any  good  and  true  man  that  never,  when  I  could  avoid  it,  did 
I  permit  one  of  them  to  pay  me  the  ineffable  compliment  of  an 
expressed  personal  preference,  unless  my  heart  felt  the  potentiality, 
at  least,  of  a  response.  My  mother  strictly  taught  her  daughters 
to  do  by  other  women’s  brothers  as  they  would  have  them  do  by 
theirs,  i.  e .,  never  through  look  or  word  to  lead  any  young  man 
to  an  avowal  of  regard  that  was  not  mutual.  The  ingenuities  by 
which  our  handsome  Mary  “moved  the  previous  question,”  that 
the  impending  one  might  be  avoided,  were  far  beyond  what  her 
plainer  sister  ever  needed  to  employ,  and  proved  the  generosity  of 
Mary’s  heart — for  what  tribute  to  a  woman’s  charms  and  goodness 
equals  that  of  the  true  man  who  says  to  her,  ‘  ‘  It  would  be  the 
highest  happiness  this  world  could  yield  if  I  might  spend  my 
life  with  you  ”  ?  Only  the  noblest,  best  instructed  natures  among 
women  are  willing  to  forego  the  music  of  such  words. 

Per  co7itra ,  the  man  who  permits  himself  even  the  most  deli¬ 
cate  approach  in  deeds  unaccompanied  by  the  honest,  self-com¬ 
mitting  words  that  honest  women  always  expect  to  hear  in  such 
connection,  is  not  the  soul  of  honor,  and  his  familiarity,  however 
small,  should  be  resented  on  the  instant.  “Hands  off”  is  the 
golden  maxim  for  every  genuine  girl  and  for  each  true  gentleman. 


Life's  Most  Intricate  Equation.  645 

All  this  I  say  out  of  a  heart  that  suffered  once  and  to  help  those 
as  yet  untried. 

A  gifted  man  (who  has  made  two  women  happy  since)  once 
wrote  me  on  this  wise:  “Dear  friend,  methinks  your  heart 
deceives  you,  for  when  we  meet,  though  you  speak  kindly,  you 
hardly  look  at  me,  and  I  take  this  as  a  token.”  I  replied  :  “  Dear 
Brother  :  This  is  the  explanation.  I  had  a  clear  and  direct  gaze 
until  much  stud}^  weakened  my  eyes,  and  I  protect  them  now  by 
studying  the  carpet.” 

Another,  true  and  loyal,  had  heard  through  a  near  friend  of 
mine  that  I  was  supposed  to  have  a  special  admiration  for  him, 
whereupon  he  wrote  a  frank  letter  implying  the  truth  of  that  hy¬ 
pothesis.  My  answer  was,  “  Dear  Friend  :  You  have  had  the  mis¬ 
fortune  to  begin  at  the  wrong  end  of  life’s  most  intricate  equation  ; 
you  have  assumed  the  value  of  the  unknown  quantity  —  a  sin  that 
hath  not  forgiveness  in  this  life  ;  no,  nor  in  that  which  is  to  come.  ’  ’ 
lie  sent  me  back  a  royal  letter,  saying  he  “would  never  have 
dared  write  what  he  did,  but  for  the  encouragement  of  my  friend’s 
wTords,  and  he  would  like  to  know  why  I  of  all  women  might  not 
help  a  man  out  of  such  a  fearful  quandary;”  indeed,  he  went  far¬ 
ther,  and  declared  that  ‘  ‘  there  was  no  reason  in  nature,  grace  or 
anything  but  sin,  why  a  woman  must  stifle  her  heart,  and  a  man 
wear  his  upon  his  sleeve.  ’  ’  But  the  sphinx  that  I  have  always 
been  had  spoken  once,  and  there  the  drama  ended  and  the  cur¬ 
tain  fell. 

In  1861-62,  for  three-quarters  of  a  year  I  wore  a  ring  and 
acknowledged  an  allegiance  based  on  the  supposition  that  an 
intellectual  comradeship  was  sure  to  deepen  into  unity  of  heart. 
How  grieved  I  was  over  the  discovery  of  my  mistake  the  journals 
of  that  epoch  could  reveal.  Of  the  real  romance  of  my  life,  un¬ 
guessed  save  by  a  trio  of  close  friends,  these  pages  may  not  tell. 
When  I  have  passed  from  sight  I  would  be  glad  to  have  it  known, 
for  I  believe  it  might  contribute  to  a  better  understanding  be¬ 
tween  good  men  and  women.  For  the  rest,  I  have  been  blessed 
with  friendships  rich,  rare,  and  varied,  all  lying  within  the  tem¬ 
perate  zone  of  a  great  heart’s  geography,  which  has  been  called 
“cold”  simply  because  no  Stanley  had  explored  its  tropic  cli¬ 
mate,  and  set  down  as  “  wholly  inland  ”  because  no  adventurous 
Balboa  had  viewed  its  wide  Pacific  Sea. 


646 


Self- Criticisms. 


DEMERITS. 

I  wonder  if  we  really  know  ourselves  in  respect  of  discount 
as  well  as  we  do  in  respect  of  advantage?  It  seems  equally  im¬ 
portant  that  we  should,  else  our  undertakings  will  be  out  of  all 
proportion  to  our  powers,  and  failure  a  foregone  conclusion.  I 
have  always  believed  that  in  a  nobler  state  of  society  we  should 
help  each  other  by  frank  and  kindly  criticism,  coupled  with 
equally  frank  praise,  and  have  held,  in  the  face  of  steady  contra¬ 
diction  from  my  friends,  that  Christian  people  ought  thus  to  help 
each  other  here  and  now. 

Probably  the  most  haunting  disability  of  my  youth  was  a  hot 
temper.  If,  as  a  child,  I  stubbed  my  toe,  it  was  instinctive  with  me  to 
turn  back  and  administer  a  vigorous  stroke  to  the  object,  animate 
or  inanimate,  that  had  caused  the  accident.  A  blow  for  a  blow 
was  my  invariable  rule,  but  my  temper  was  a  swift  electric  flash, 
not  the  slow  burning  anthracite  of  sullenness.  Indeed,  the  sulks 
and  blues  are  both  foreign  to  my  natural  habitudes.  My  sister, 
though  vastly  more  amiable  than  her  older  brother  and  sister,  was 
somewhat  inclined  to  brood,  or  “mump,”  as  we  graceless  young 
ones  called  it. 

I  well  remember  the  last  time  that  I  ever  ‘  ‘struck  out, 5  ’  and 
am  ashamed  to  say  it  occurred  in  the  first  years  of  my  student 
life  at  Evanston.  My  father  had  a  queer  way  of  buying  the 
dresses,  bonnets,  indeed,  almost  the  entire  outfit  of  his  daughters, 
and  continued  it  until  we  were  well  nigh  grown  up.  One  winter 
he  brought  me  home  a  red  worsted  hood  that  I  declared  I  hated 
with  ‘  ‘a  hatred  and  a  half,  ’  *  but  all  the  same  I  had  to  wear  it.  We 
two  sisters  were  wont  to  dress  alike,  and  while  the  bright  color 
set  off  Mary’s  dark  blue  eyes  and  ruddy  cheeks,  it  simply  extin¬ 
guished  what  little  “looks”  I  had,  and  some  of  my  school-mates 
made  fun  of  my  appearance.  One,  in  particular,  a  handsome  girl 
belonging  to  a  family  that  was  well  at  the  front  socially,  hectored 
me  unmercifully.  I  gave  her  fair  warning  that  “if  she  did  not 
stop  she  would  be  sorry,”  but  this  only  added  zest  to  her  attack. 
We  were  all  at  the  entrance  to  the  chapel,  school  was  out,  and  no 
teacher  left  in  sight.  I  began  putting  on  the  hated  hood  and  the 
“hectoring”  also  began.  My  anger  burned  so  fiercely  against  my 
handsome  tormentor  that,  though  she  was  much  taller  than  I,  the 


No  Need  of  Money . 


647 


vigor  of  my  attack  was  such  that  she  was  flung  in  a  crumpled 
heap  between  the  benches,  face  foremost  on  the  floor.  Nobody 
spoke — the  deed  was  so  sudden  that  it  took  their  breath  away;  I 
finished  tying  on  that  red  hood  and  walked  home.  The  handsome 
girl  never  retaliated,  never  referred  to  the  subject  again,  and  we 
have  been  the  best  of  friends  from  that  day  to  this. 

Dear  mother  says  she  does  not  know  when  in  well-nigh  thirty 
years  she  has  seen  me  angry,  and  beyond  a  momentary  flash  that 
I  am  glad  to  see  and  say  grows  more  infrequent  every  year,  that 
inborn  energy  is  slain.  I  have  only  written  of  it  here  because  I 
want  the  picture  truthful,  and  hope  my  failings  may  help  others, 
handicapped  as  I  have  been,  to  “rise  on  the  stepping  stones  of 
their  dead  selves  to  higher  things.  ’  ’ 

A  tendency  to  exaggeration  is  the  next  enemy  that  I  have 
tried  to  fight.  When  traveling  in  Europe,  my  friend,  Kate  Jack- 
.  son,  would  see  the  same  landscape  or  city,  picture  or  celebrity,  and 
in  the  midst  of  my  enthusiastic  efforts  to  describe  them  she  would 
often  interrupt  with  the  words,  “Why,  Frank,  you  don’t  mean  to 
say  that  we  saw  all  that V  ’  While  I  would  break  in  on  her  efforts  at 
description,  with  the  words,  ‘  ‘You  didn’t  half  tell  it.  ’  ’  Neither  had 
meant  to  give  a  wrong  impression,  but  the  personal  equation 
needed  in  both  cases  to  be  taken  into  the  account.  “You  see 
double,”  has  been  said  of  me  when  I  had  delineated  a  friend 
wThom  I  admired,  but  if  so  it  was  with  one  real  and  one  idealiz¬ 
ing  eye.  It  comforts  me  to  know  that  in  the  habit  of  accurate 
recital  I  have  gained  greatly  with  the  years,  and  to  know  also  that 
I  have  n’t  a  near  friend  who  does  not  deem  me  fairly  accurate  and 
scrupulously  truthful  so  far  as  my  intention  goes. 

As  to  money,  a  five-cent  silver  coin  sewed  into  each  tiny  toe 
of  a  pair  of  stockings  knit  by  the  tireless  hands  of  my  father’s 
mother  and  sent  to  the  far  West  when  I  was  about  ten  years  old, 
was  the  first  (except  my  “butter  pennies”)  of  my  financial  pos¬ 
sessions.  Money  was  something  far  off,  unnecessary,  except  for 
the  convenience  of  those  who  dwelt  in  cities.  On  the  farm,  having 
formed  an  alliance  with  generous  old  Dame  Nature,  we  were 
abundantly  able  to  take  care  of  ourselves  without  it.  This  was 
about  the  view  I  held  in  childhood. 

When  in  Milwaukee,  at  seventeen,  attending  school,  good 


648 


First  Earnings. 


Irish  Mike,  one  of  our  farm  hands,  sent  fifty  cents  apiece  to  Mary 
and  to  me,  all  the  spending  money  we  had  for  three  whole  months. 
After  a  careful  consultation  with  my  wdse  aunt  Sarah,  I  invested 
mine  in  a  ticket  to  the  menagerie  (not  the  present  circus,  by  a 
long  moral  distance),  a  blank  book  for  my  historical  and  other 
charts,  and  five  cents’  worth  of  peppermint  candy.  When  away 
at  school  in  Evanston,  we  had  no  spending  money  either;  it  wras 
never  named  or  thought  of  as  necessary.  My  father  furnished 
us  with  all  needful  stationery  and  postage,  and  paid  all  bills. 
“What  would  you  more?”  he  used  to  ask.  But  I  wrote  an  arti¬ 
cle  for  the  Prairie  Farmer,  and  received  two  dollars  for  it  at  two 
different  times;  whereupon  I  invited  my  friends  to  a  feast,  also 
treated  my  favorite  Maggie  to  a  buggy  ride,  and  for  the  first  time 
looked  upon  myself  as  a  moneyed  proprietor.  From  that  day  to 
this  I  have  been,  by  pen  and  voice,  an  earner  of  money.  My  first 
solid  possession  was  a  little  gold  stud  for  my  sister  and  myself, 
then  a  pair  of  sleeve  buttons,  then  an  engraving  of  Longfellow’s 
“Evangeline,”  then  a  handsome  gilt-edged  book  for  my  sister’s 
journal  and  a  photograph  album  for  each  of  us,  then  the  photo¬ 
graphs  of  mother,  Mary  and  myself,  but  for  which  we  should 
have  had  no  picture  of  the  dearest  girl  that  ever  died.  In  all 
those  earlier  years  I  kept  accounts,  but  was  careless  about  adding 
them  up;  and  as  for  a  “balance  sheet,”  I  have  never  even  seen  an 
object  so  distasteful.  When  tottering  out  uncertainly  into  the 
world  of  bread-winners  (for  while  I  lived  near  home  my  father 
generally  clothed  me,  and  my  own  small  earnings  wrent  for 
“extras”),  I  was,  for  a  brief  period,  somewhat  given  to  borrow¬ 
ing  in  a  small  wTay;  but  the  concurrent  testimony  of  all  who  knowT 
me  best  is  that  the  money  has  been  scrupulously  returned.  I 
am  one  who,  while  she  never  lays  up  money,  keeps  the  finances 
in  a  snug,  thrifty  way,  and  is  careful  to  meet  all  obligations  of  a 
financial  sort. 

For  this  good  reputation  the  chief  credit  should  be  given  to 
those  good  women  who,  ever  since  the  unspeakable  loneliness  of 
my  sister’s  going  from  me,  have  been  what  she  was  tome,  “guide, 
philosopher  and  friend.”  A  thousand  times  they  hear  my  “don’t 
forget,  ’  ’  whether  it  is  to  pay  the  insurance  or  to  return  a  borrowed 
slate  pencil,  and  with  punctilious  care  they  see  it  done.  This 


The  Height  of  Human  Brotherhood. 


649 


care-taking  about  rendering  even-handed  justice  in  financial 
accounts  was  a  prime  trait  with  my  parents  and  in  both  their 
families.  My  mother  gives  no  rest  to  herself  or  to  us  while  a  debt, 
no  matter  how  small,  hangs  over  us.  Though  I  have  earned  tens 
of  thousands  of  dollars,  I  have  nothing  except  Rest  Cottage,  the 
joint  inheritance  of  mother  and  myself,  and  finally  to  revert,  after 
a  tenure  of  “life  use,”  to  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.,  to  be  em¬ 
ployed  by  that  association  for  the  purpose  of  training  boys  and  girls 
to  habits  of  physical  purity,  with  especial  reference  to  personal 
chastity  and  the  non-use,  in  any  form,  of  alcoholics  and  narcotics. 
For  I  have  felt,  as  the  great  Agassiz  declared  of  his,  that  one  of 
my  vocation  “could  not  afford  to  make  money.”  Living  com¬ 
fortably,  but  with  entire  simplicity,  and  not  keeping  horse  or  cow, 
we  barely  succeed  in  making  both  ends  of  the  year  meet,  after 
giving  away  from  a  fifth  to  a  fourth  of  our  income.  Until  1886 
I  was  not  salaried  by  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.,  and  for  three  years 
before  that,  generous  friends  sent  money  to  mother  to  keep  the 
home  intact.  I  hold  that  a  reformer  cannot  advantageously  lay  up 
money— at  least  I  cannot.  The  leverage  lost  in  public  confidence 
is  too  great  an  off-set;  the  demands  are  too  varied,  constant  and 
imperious.  Some  years  ago  I  set  out  to  receive  no  more  than  $25 
per  lecture,  and  though  offered  $50,  $75  and  $100,  I  have  steadily 
declined  to  advance  my  figures.  My  friends  have  talked  severely 
to  me  about  this,  but  I  am  convinced  my  course  was  Christian,  and 
along  financial  lines  more  in  harmony  with  that  day  of  brotherhood 
toward  which  we  hasten  than  any  other  one  thing  of  all  that  I  have 
tried  to  do.  For  I  believe  that  “the  love  of  money  is  the  root  of 
all  evil;”  that  it  has  warped  and  minified  more  lives,  turned 
more  homes  into  small  compacts  of  perdition,  and  defeated  the 
Gospel’s  blessed  purpose,  more  than  all  other  curses  that  ever 
crazed  the  human  heart.  May  the  slow,  .steady  lift  of  Christian 
justice  hasten  us  to  the  grander  height  where  stand  already,  with 
clear  heads  and  helping  hands,  some  of  the  noblest  thinkers  of  the 
world. 


650 


Milestones  of  the  Years. 


MY  HOLIDAYS. 

The  holidays  of  fifty  years  !  Seven  weeks  apiece  of  Christ¬ 
mas,  New  Year,  and  the  Fourth  of  July,  with  Washington’s  Birth¬ 
day  and  one’s  own,  as  milestones  on  life’s  pathway — surely  that 
ought  to  be  a  toothsome  theme,  redolent  of  savory  dinners  and 
fragrant  with  good  will. 

My  seventh  is  the  first  birthday  I  recall.  We  were  in  the 
isolated  Wisconsin  farm-house,  newly  built  and  unplastered,  not 
to  say  unpainted.  But  mother  had  made  me  a  big  rag-doll,  fasten¬ 
ing  the  historic  curls,  described  before,  upon  its  head,  and  father 
had  painted  its  face,  drawing  thereon  the  most  surprising  pair  of 
eyes  it  has  ever  been  my  lot  to  see.  Doll  Anna  was  attired  in  a 
Turkey  red  calico  gown,  made  from  one  of  my  mother’s  old 
aprons,  and  I  was  permitted  to  hold  her  all  day,  except  when  I 
put  her  to  sleep  on  the  pillow  on  mother’s  high,  four-posted  bed. 
Later  on,  my  sister  fell  heir  to  this  doll  and  its  hair,  and  last  of 
all,  my  brother’s  children  played  with  its  remnants  in  their  in¬ 
fancy.  On  the  day  that  mother,  in  the  midst  of  all  her  farm- 
work,  gave  me  this  memorable  and  beloved  image,  she  made  me 
a  birthday  cake,  and  permitted  me  to  wear  her  gold  pencil, — a 
souvenir  of  her  teaching  years,  and  the  one  article  of  jewelry  that 
she  possessed.  Happy  as  a  queen,  I  little  knew,  what  now  I 
know  so  well,  that  the  spell  wrapped  around  me  that  day,  and 
every  other,  wTas  spun  from  my  mother’s  happy  thoughts. 

The  Fourth  of  July  was  a  high  day  in  our  Zion,  for  patriot¬ 
ism  was  the  most  attractive  form  of  religion  that  my  reckless 
childhood  knew.  Thanksgiving  was  passed  lightly  over,  in  that 
new  country  where  there  were  no  absent  members  of  the  family 
to  come  home.  Christmas  made  us  hang  up  our  stockings  and 
find  but  little  there,  next  morning  ;  New  Year  hardly  counted  at 
all.  Birthdays  cut  no  great  figure,  even  Washington’s  going  for 
almost  nothing.  But  the  Fourth  of  July  ! — that  came  in,  went 
on,  and  passed  out,  in  a  blaze  of  patriotic  glory.  This  does  not 
mean  powder,  though,  and  a  big  noise,  for  never  a  cracker  nor 
torpedo  snapped  off  our  Yankee  Doodle  “sentiments”  on  the 
old  farm  in  all  the  years.  We  had  no  money  to  spend,  and  if  we 
had,  it  would  n’t  have  been  allowed  to  pass  away  in  smoke.  Nor 
had  we  any  fire-works.  Not  so  much  as  a  single  “  rocket  ”  ever 
shot  toward  the  stars  above  the  close-set  trees  that  sheltered 


New  Year's  Calls. 


651 

Forest  Home.  From  the  steeple  on  the  barn  we  watched  with 
wonder  the  fiery  serpents  and  Roman  candles  “up  at  Janesville,” 
three  miles  away,  and  shuddered  in  the  summer  dark  at  thought 
of  what  it  would  be  to  fall  down  the  steep  roof  beneath  us,  as 
father  had  so  nearly  done  once,  when  painting  a  favorite  orna¬ 
ment  upon  the  Gothic  gable.  But  Forest  Home  patriotism  rose 
all  the  higher,  perhaps,  because  it  lacked  the  fizz  and  buzz  and 
sputter  of  the  regulation  Fourth  of  July  “break-down.” 

Mother  had  talked  to  us  so  much  about  America  that  from 
earliest  recollection  we  had  spelled  nation  with  a  capital  N.  To 
us  our  native  land  was  a  cherishing  mother,  like  our  own  in 
gentleness  and  strength,  only  having  so  many  more  children, 
grateful  and  glad,  under  her  thoughtful  care.  We  loved  to  give 
her  praises,  and  half  believed  that  sometime,  when  we  grew  big 
enough,  and  got  out  into  the  wide,  wide  world,  we  should  find  her 
and  kneel  to  offer  her  our  loving  service  and  to  ask  her  blessing. 

The  “Annual  Agricultural  and  Mechanics’  Fair, of  Rock 
County”  was  another  notable  holiday,  perhaps  the  most  pro¬ 
nounced  of  all  the  year.  Of  later  Christmas-tides,  there  was  one 
in  Paris,  and  my  Roman  Christmas  was  noteworthy.  New  Year’s 
calls  did  not  begin  for  me  until  my  twentieth  year.  We  had  lived 
in  the  country  twelve  years,  where  no  such  novelty  was  known, 
and  it  was  with  not  a  little  perturbation  that  we  arrayed  ourselves 
“  to  receive  with  mamma.”  Evanston  was  a  wee  bit  of  a  village, 
but  the  University  newly  planted  there  had  attracted  a  really 
cultured  group  of  men  and  women,  while  the  students  were  a  very 
“likely”  class  of  young  people.  My  fears — for  the  others  had 
none — lest  we  might  not  know  j  ust  what  to  say  or  ,do  were  put 
to  flight  by  the  advent  at  nine  A.  m.  of  a  quartette  of  boys  hardly 
more  than  half  my  age,  with  whose  pleasant  talk  of  outdoor  sports 
I  was  in  perfect  sympathy,  and  when  the  grown-ups  came  they 
were  in  groups  so  large  and  so  intent  on  seeing  ‘  ‘  who  could 
make  the  most  calls,”  that  conversation  was  impossible,  and  the 
business-like  spirit  of  the  day  was  so  thoroughly  Chicagoesque 
that  I  forgot  my  fears,  and  concerned  myself  chiefly  with  “count¬ 
ing  up  ”  how  many  calls  we  had.  From  that  day  011,  the  custom 
has  seemed  to  me  to  be  one  best  honored  in  the  breach,  though  a 
few  of  our  friends  who  still  drop  in  find  those  of  us  who  are  left 
sincerely  glad  to  see  them.  But  the  convivial  feature  alone  gave 


652 


Mother's  Eightieth  Birthday. 


cohesion  to  the  custom  of  New  Year’s  calls,  and  it  has  already 
fallen  into  disuse.  The  only  day  thus  employed  that  I  ever  really 
enjoyed  was  in  1875,  when  the  Chicago  W.  C.  T.  U.  received  its 
friends. 

Among  the  touching  incidents  of  the  day  was  a  call  from  a 
young  German,  who  came  in,  arm  in  arm  with  his  wife.  He 
signed  the  pledge  while  she  wept  tears  of  joy.  He  gave  her  the 
witnessed  pledge-card,  and  she  took  it  as  if  it  had  been  a  wedge 
of  gold.  He  clasped  her  hand  and  kissed  her,  and  we  all  knelt 
in  prayer.  He  looked  up  as  I  pointed  to  our  beautiful  motto 
above  the  pledge-table,  “Trust  in  God,”  and  promised  me  he 
would,  and  they  went  away  weeping.  Yet  they  understood  no 
word  that  I  had  spoken, — it  was  wholly  an  “  affair  of  the  heart  ”; 
but  how  sacred  and  how  true  ! 

But  mother’s  eightieth  birthday  (1885)  was  the  greatest  hol¬ 
iday  that  our  house  ever  saw.  Twenty-five  hundred  invitations 
were  sent  out  to  our  old  friends  and  the  white  ribboners,  in  the 
name  of  Mrs.  Mary  B.  Willard  and  myself.  Evergreens  came  from 
her  native  town,  Danville,  Vt.,  from  our  former  home  on  Pleas¬ 
ant  street,  Oberlin,  Ohio,  from  the  Wisconsin  farm,  with  products 
of  “the  old  place,”  kindly  furnished  by  the  present  owners; 
gifts  in  great  variety  were  sent  from  everywhere  ;  reformed  men 
with  their  families  decorated  and  lighted  up  the  grounds  ;  old 
neighbors  at  Janesville,  Wis.,  united  in  a  testimonial  ;  Whit¬ 
tier  and  John  B.  Gough,  Neal  Dow  and  Marietta  Holley,  with 
hundreds  of  others,  sent  letters  and  remembrances.  Kinsley 
served  the  feast,  with  eighty  candles  gleaming  around  the  birth¬ 
day  cake.  Mamie  Wfillard,  her  youngest  grandchild,  recited  this 
as  she  gave  her  an  album  : 

Dear  grandmamma,  I’m  only  ten, 

While  you  have  passed  four  score  ; 

But  every  day  I  live  with  you 
I’m  sure  I  love  you  more. 

And  I  do  hope,  when  I'm  as  old, 

That  I’ll  be  kind  like  you, 

And  make  the  children  care  for  me 
When  I  am  eighty,  too  ! 

I  pray  that  God  will  let  you  stay 
Here  ten  more  years  at  least ; 


Greet  mgs  and  Gifts. 


653 


And  when  your  ninetieth  birthday  comes, 

Then  /  will  make  the  feast. 

And  with  this  wish,  and  loving  kiss, 

Because  you  are  so  dear, 

I  want  to  give  you,  for  your  own 
This  birthday  souvenir. 

A  group  of  lovely  children  brought  a  basket  with  eighty  roses, 
repeating  Anna  Gordon’s  happy  lines  : 

Now,  last  of  all,  your  little  friends 
Have  just  a  word  or  two  ; 

We  can’t  imagine  how  ’twould  seem 
To  be  as  old  as  you. 

But  then  you  have  so  young  a  heart, 

And  are  so  good  and  kind, 

If  we  could  all  grow  old  like  you, 

We  think  we  should  n’t  mind. 

We  bring  you  eighty  roses  fair, 

One  for  each  fragrant  year  ; 

Accept  them  with  a  blessing,  please, 

From  little  hearts  sincere. 

Anna  also  wrote  a  song  of  which  space  permits  only  a 
single  stanza.  It  was  rendered  by  voices  sweet  as  the  song’s 
significance,  to  the  tune  of  ‘  ‘  Auld  Lang  Syne  ’  ’ : 

We  join  to-night  to  honor  one 
Whose  crown  of  eighty  years 

Reflects  a  faith  that’s  born  of  love, 

A  hope  that  conquers  fears  : 

A  life  enriched  by  blessed  deeds 
All  through  its  busy  days  ; 

A  soul  that  e’en  in  darkest  hours 
Still  sings  its  song  of  praise. 

Down  upon  the  sweet  scene  looked  the  portraits  of  our  trio 
beloved  who  had  passed  onward.  Dear  mo.ther  was  her  own 
unchanging,  sunny  self,  and  after  receiving  from  eight  until 
eleven,  was  up  bright  and  early  next  morning,  going  to  “  Love 
Feast  ”  and  to  “  Quarterly  Meeting  ”  at  the  church. 

Mother’s  reply  to  the  birthday  greetings  was  as  follows  : 

I  have  no  language  in  which  to  respond  appropriately  to  the  kindly  sen¬ 
timents  just  expressed  in  such  polished  phrase.  This  is  my  eighty- first 
birthday.  Eighty  years  is  a  long  time,  longer  than  any  one  now  present 
can  remember.  I  did  not  expect  to  live  so  long,  I  wonder  that  i  have.  And 


654 


Mother's  Reply. 


so  my  friends  have  come  to  congratulate  me  upon  my  continued  life  and 
health.  I  appreciate  your  kindness,  and  the  honor  you  do  me  ;  coming,  as 
it  does,  from  persons  of  exceptional  excellence  of  life  and  character,  and 
of  rare  discrimination  and  attainment,  it  will  lend  a  halo  to  the  sunset  of 
my  life.  But  I  am  aware  that  it  is  to  an  ideal  that  you  show  this  loving 
courtesy  and  unfeigned  respect.  I,  too,  have  had  ideals  from  my  girlhood, 
and  I  still  pay  homage  to  the  creations  of  my  imagination,  just  as  others  do. 
It  does  no  harm  when  our  friends  put  an  overestimate  upon  us ;  it  stimu¬ 
lates  us  to  endeavor  to  be  such  persons  as  our  friends  charitably  think 
we  are. 

I  have  a  prayer  in  my  heart  for  you  all,  that  your  lives  may  be  prolonged 
and  that  your  influence  in  the  cause  of  God  and  humanity  may  be  extended 
and  multiplied  until  time  shall  not  be  measured  by  the  flight  of  years. 

Accept  my  sincere  and  grateful  thanks  for  this  expression  of  your  kind 
regard. 


Mother’ s  First  Temperance  Pledge . 


655 


MOTHER. 

Concerning  my  mother,  I  wish  to  say  that  for  mingled  strength 
and  tenderness,  “sweetness  and  light,”  I  have  never  met  her 
superior.  The  word  ‘  ‘  dauntless  ’  ’  best  expresses  the  attitude 
of  her  mind  ;  the  word  ‘  ‘  loving,  ’  ’  that  of  her  heart.  She  has 
such  equipoise  of  character,  such  anchorage  in  God,  that  no 
scorm  surprises  or  is  able  to  make  shipwreck  of  her  sovereignty 
and  faith. 

My  father  and  mother  both  had  marked  gifts  with  voice  and 
pen,  and  a  colloquial  quaintness  that  kept  our  home  in  perpetual 
merriment.  My  brother  and  sister  had  a  rich  inheritance  of 
humor  from  this  double  source  of  drollery  and  fun.  It  did  not 
take  the  form  of  far-fetched  puns  or  thrice-told  anecdotes,  but 
bubbled  up  perpetually  in  original  phrases  and  felicities  of  play¬ 
fulness  that  enlivened  their  conversation  like  the  play  of  light¬ 
ning  upon  a  summer  cloud.  But  beyond  all  of  “  My  Four  ”  best 
and  nearest  ones,  she  ranks,  whose  supreme  gift  of  motherliness 
reached,  in  her  children’s  estimation,  the  height  of  actual  genius. 

My  mother  was  a  school-teacher  not  far  from  Rochester,  in 
the  prime  of  her  youth,  beginning  at  the  age  of  fifteen.  An  ele¬ 
gant  gentleman  entering  her  school-house  one  day,  asked  if  he 
might  make  a  temperance  speech.  It  was  Gen.  Riley,  of  Roch¬ 
ester,  who  lived  to  be  nearly  one  hundred  years  old,  and  talked 
temperance  all  his  life,  being  a  man  of  wealth  and  going  out  at 
his  own  expense  to  speak.  This  lecture  that  he  gave  in  mother’s 
school-house  was  the  first  she  ever  heard,  and  she  signed  the 
pledge  then  and  there  for  the  first  time.  One  of  her  friends,  a 
young  man,  learned  of  this  later,  and  thought  it  so  purely  fanat¬ 
ical  that  he  said  with  warmth  to  her,  “  I  hope,  just  to  pay  you 
for  doing  that,  you  will  never  be  able  to  get  married.”  This  is 
an  interesting  side-light  on  the  popular  fhought  of  that  day. 


656 


A  Septuagenarian  President. 


When  mother  was  seventy  years  old  she  became  President 
of  the  Woman’s  Temperance  Union  of  Kvanston.  I  am  very 
glad  that  she,  though  in  the  evening  of  her  life,  may  be  reckoned 
not  only  a  white  ribboner,  but  as  one  who  has  served  in  the  army 
as  captain  of  a  company  recruited  in  her  own  village,  and  which 
still  holds  on  its  way,  one  of  the  best,  most  level-headed  Unions 
in  the  whole  ten  thousand. 

Mother  says  that  at  family  worship  in  her  home,  they  were 
wont  to  sing  together,  ‘  ‘  How  firm  a  foundation,  ye  saints  of  the 
Uord,”  and  her  parents  used  to  say  “  it  would  never  wear  out. 
because  it  was  so  full  of  scripture.”  When  mother  came  back 
to  us,  after  being  confined  in  her  room  six  weeks,  we  sang  that 
hymn  for  her,  Anna  and  I,  at  family  prayers,  and  she  broke  in 
at  the  verse  about  “hoary  hairs,”  and  said,  “How  I  enjoyed 
that  for  my  old  grandmother,  who  lived  to  be  ninety-seven,  and 
then  I  enjoyed  it  for  my  dear  father,  who  was  eighty-six  when 
he  passed  away,  and  now  my  daughter  enjoys  it  for  me,  who 
am  eighty-four,  and  perhaps  she  will  live  on  to  be  as  old  as  I, 
when  I  feel  sure  she  will  have  friends  who  will  enjoy  it  just  as 
tenderly  for  her.  ’  ’  I  said,  ‘  ‘  The  hymn  is  memorable  in  connection 
with  the  St.  Uouis  Convention,  where  we  sang  it  just  before  we 
entered  on  the  great  political  debate,  and  I  was  wonderfully  borne 
up  by  the  words  beginning, 

“The  soul  that  on  Jesus  hath  leaned  for  repose, 

I  will  not,  I  will  not  desert  to  its  foes.” 

But  above  all  other  hymns,  mother’s  favorite  seems  to  be,  in 
these  days  : 

“Bead,  kindly  light,  amid  the  encircling  gloom, 

Lead  thou  me  on.” 

On  the  26th  anniversary  of  our  Mary’s  funeral  day,  June  10th, 
1888,  when  she  was  slowly  recovering  from  her  long  illness,  my 
mother  said,  coming  into  the  ‘  ‘Den’  ’  where  I  was  writing,  and  stand¬ 
ing  near  the  door,  with  her  beautiful  hands  raised  and  clasped 
as  her  frequent  custom  is,  ‘  ‘  When  I  slip  away  before  long,  as  I 
shall,  you  must  be  consoled  by  remembering  how  long  you  have 
had  your  mother  ;  how  much  of  our  pilgrimage  we  have  walked 
together,  and  that  you  are  already  over  the  roughest  of  the  road, 


THE  PARLOR  — REST  COTTAGE. 


“ Not  a  Clog  or  Hindrance 


657 


for  you  are  well-nigh  fifty  and  I  am  in  my  eighty-fourth  year. 
Then  you  must  be  glad  and  grateful  that  I  was  not  a  clog  or 
hindrance  to  you,  but  kept  my  health  so  long  and  retained  my  spirit 
of  good  cheer  and  tried  to  make  your  home  a  real  and  happy  one. 
And  then  you  must  be  glad  that  you  are  able  to  keep  up  such  a 
home,  one  that  grows  more  beautiful  and  pleasant  every  year,  and 
is  hallowed  by  so  many  sweet  and  sacred  memories.  Few 
daughters  could  have  done  for  their  mothers  what  you  have  done 
for  me.  From  the  other  side,  I  can  help  you  more,  perhaps,  while 
I  leave  you  untrammeled,  for  I  cannot  bear  to  be  an  invalid  on  the 
hands  of  one  whose  life  is  so  greatly  and  growingly  burdened.  I 
have  never  been  a  hindrance  to  you  in  anything,  and  you  do  not 
know  how  it  would  grieve  me  to  become  one  now.  If  I  were 
not  here  you  would  be  likely  to  spend  your  winters  South,  and 
your  throat  seems  to  require  it  as  you  grow  older,  and  the  or¬ 
ganic  trouble  so  increases.  But  I  can  never  live  anywhere  but 
here.  I  am  a  sort  of  snail  and  Rest  Cottage  is  my  shell. 

‘ c  They  are  nearly  all  gone  now,  our  five,  of  whom  we  used  to 
talk  so  much  together,  and  I  shall  slip  quietly  away  from  you  and 
follow  them.  Don’t  allow  yourself  to  grieve,  my  child,  for  the 
time  will  fly  so  much  faster  than  you  think  until  you  too  are 
gathered  home,  and  so  we  shall  all  be  ‘  forever  with  the  Ford.’  ” 
The  same  day,  I  think,  she  said  to  me  at  dinner,  “You  have 
always  been  asking  your  friends  to  tell  you  your  faults.  For 
myself,  I  do  not  care  to  hear  about  mine.  At  my  age  there  is  no 
help  for  them.  Rather  let  me  say  with  Whittier, 

‘  Suffice  it  if — my  good  and  ill  unreckoned — 

I  find  myself,  by  hands  familiar,  beckoned 
Unto  my  fitting  place.’  ” 

When  she  was  seventy-five  years  old  I  took  her  back  to  her 
birthplace  in  Danville,  Vt.,  which  she  had  not  seen  since  her 
eleventh  year,  and  she  found  the  location  of  t«he  old  home  and 
school  house  with  unerring  eye,  though  not  the  faintest  remnant 
of  either  yet  remained.  It  did  my  heart  good  to  have  her  visit 
New  York  and  Boston,  and  to  look  out  over  “old  ocean’s  gray 
and  melancholy  waste,”  which  she  had  never  thought  to  see. 
She  has  also  attended  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  conventions  at 
Washington  and  Minneapolis,  going  as  a  delegate. 

42 


658  Alone  in  the  House." 

Life  is  a  joy  to  her  among  the  hundred  papers  and  magazines 
coming  to  us  each  week;  she  looks  over  her  favorites,  examines 
many  books  sent  me  for  review,  and  gives  me  her  opinion,  for  I 
can  seldom  find  time  to  read  them;  she  goes  to  church  once  in 
awhile,  but  mainly  stays  in  her  own  room,  except  when  our  kind 
neighbors  take  her  out  to  ride.  The  presence  of  her  grand-chil¬ 
dren,  Robert  and  Kate,  Frank  and  Mary,  who  were  with  us 
last  summer,  brightened  her  days  greatly;  in  her  grandson,  Robert, 
she  seems  to  live  anew  his  father’s  youthful  days,  and  from  her 
illness  of  last  year  she  seems  to  have  recovered  altogether. 

In  the  earlier  years  of  my  temperance  touring,  mother 
always  said  to  me,  “  Go,  my  daughter,  your  work  is  mine — 
I  will  stay  at  home  and  pray  for  your  safe  return.”  So  I  left 
her  with  our  good  Hannah  and  usually  a  student  in  the  house, 
my  brother  and  his  family  living  in  Evanston,  and  some  of  them 
seeing  her  daily.  After  his  death  we  were  all  together,  as  my 
sister  built  an  annex  to  Rest  Cottage,  and  in  the  latest  years  my 
secretaries  have  been  with  her,  and  our  kind  and  capable  Swede 
girl,  Eda.  It  pained  me  not  a  little  to  find  one  day  in  mother’s 
portfolio  these  lines,  composed  after  she  was  seventy  years  of  age: 

ALONE  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

Alone  in  the  house!  Who  would  dream  it, 

Or  think  that  it  ever  could  be; 

When  my  babes  thrilled  the  soft  air  with  love  notes 
That  had  meaning  for  no  one  but  me  ? 

Alone  in  the  house  !  Who  would  dream  it, 

Or  think  that  it  ever  could  be, 

When  they  came  from  their  small  garden-castle, 

Down  under  their  dear  maple  tree: 

Or  from  graves  of  their  pets  and  their  kittens 
With  grief  it  would  pain  you  to  see. 

Then  with  brows  looking  weary  from  lessons, 

Pored  over  with  earnestness  rare, 

And  then  from  a  thoughtful  retirement, 

With  solitude’s  first  blanch  of  care. 

A  house  of  stark  silence  and  stillness 
Is  this,  where  I  think  of  the  rush 
Of  childhood’s  swift  feet  at  the  portal, 

And  of  childhood’s  sweet  spirit  of  trust. 

All  alone  in  the  house,  all  alone. 


Mother '  s  Cooking. 


659 


On  this  generous  festival  day. 

O  where  have  my  girls  gone  this  New  Yaar’s, 

Who  made  the  home  merry  as  May  ? 

One  went  to  the  call  of  Death’s  angel, 

And  one,  duty  called  her  away. 

O  how  will  it  he  in  the  future  ? 

I  wonder  so  how  it  will  be, 

When  we  all  meet  together  in  Heaven, 

Husband,  son,  gentle  daughters  and  me  ? 

Who  will  bring  us  together  in  glory, 

When  the  long  separation  is  done  ? 

’Tis  the  Friend  who  will  never  forsake  us, 

And  who  never  has  left  us  alone. 

Then  fearless  I’ll  enter  to-morrow, 

’Twill  be  one  day  nearer  our  home. 

But  when  shall  we  reach  there,  I  wonder  ? 

Where  father,  brother  and  sister  now  rest, 

To  dwell  with  the  Christ  who  redeemed  us, 

In  the  beautiful  land  of  the  blest  ? 

Shut  in  from  life’s  strange  contradictions, 

These  questionings,  these  heart-aches  and  tears, 

Never  more  shall  I  sigh  for  the  absent,  ' 

Throughout  all  eternity’s  years  ! 

My  dear  mother  was  an  admirable  home-maker  as  well  as 
housekeeper.  The  literature  of  her  good  housekeeping  was  en¬ 
shrined  in  two  volumes  that  always  lay  upon  her  dressing  bureau, 
Catherine  Beecher’s  ‘‘Domestic  Economy,”  and  the  ‘‘Domestic 
Receipts,”  by  the  same  author.  She  was  immaculately  neat, 
though  we  never  felt  oppressed  by  it.  There  was  a  wholesome¬ 
ness  about  our  way  of  living,  a  comfortable  abundance  without 
any  approach  to  display,  and  an  inviting  table,  with  mother’s 
cooking,  the  flavor  of  which  remains  with  me  as  one  of  the  most 
pleasant  of  my  childish  memories.  Indeed,  since  then,  it  seems 
to  me,  I  have  cared  very  little  about  the  pleasures  of  the  table. 
I  remember  the  samp  she  used  to  make  and  what  a  luxury  we 
children  thought  it  with  the  fresh  sweet  milk  from  our  own  cows, 
and  the  hulled  corn  that  she  often  had  “  doing  ”  on  the  back  of 
the  stove  for  our  especial  delectation. 

One  of  her  pet  books  was,  “  The  Mother  at  Home.”  Noth¬ 
ing  seemed  to  fascinate  her  so  much  as  the  few  volumes  that 
were  at  her  command  relative  to  the  proper  training  of  children. 
I  think  there  must  be  twenty  now  where  there  was  one  in 
her  day. 


66o 


“  Young- hearted  when  Old." 

When  she  was  eighty-four,  my  mother  said  to  me  one  day  in 
her  reminiscent  tone  :  “I  sometimes  wonder,  as  I  think  it  over, 
that  I  minded  it  so  little  when  you  were  away  almost  all  the  time 
for  so  many  years,  and  I  lived  here  in  this  house.  It  is  well  for 
you  that  neither  of  your  parents  took  on  unnecessary  care.  Your 
father  never  worried,  he  never  lay  awake  or  tossed  upon  his 
pillow.  He  often  said  to  me  that  he  did  not  lose  sleep  through 
care.  He  had  a  philosophical  way  of  looking  at  everything,  in¬ 
deed,  we  both  had,  and  you  inherit  it.  The  Thompson  gener¬ 
osity,  the  Willard  delicacy,  the  Hill  purpose  and  steadfastness, 
the  French  element  coming  from  the  Lewis  family,  make  up  an 
unique  human  amalgam.” 

Mother  was  fond  of  music,  and  on  the  farm  she  taught  her¬ 
self  to  {flay  on  the  melodeon.  She  was  always  studious  to 
acquire,  and  we  felt,  although  she  did  not  say  it,  that  she  had  a 
purpose  to  keep  along  with  her  children,  so  that  they  should  not 
look  upon  her  as  antiquated,  or  come  to  acquirements  themselves 
that  made  her  a  less  congenial  comrade.  In  this  she  surely 
showed  the  subtlest  wisdom. 

I  think  the  key  to  mother’s  long  and  tranquil  life  is  to  be 
found  in  the  conscientious  care  with  which  she  required  herself 
to  sleep.  Many  an  evening,  so  many  that  it  became  a  proverb 
in  the  family,  she  would  take  her  leave  of  us  before  the  circle 
around  the  evening  lamp  was  broken,  saying,  “  I  must  go  to  bed 
and  to  sleep,  for  my  children’s  sake,  that  I  may  still  be  young- 
liearted  when  I’m  old.”  Of  course,  this  made  us  think  that 
sleep  had  magic  in  it,  and  the  habit  was  sedulously  followed  by 
my  sister  and  myself,  and,  so  far  as  I  know,  by  my  brother. 

One  of  my  mother’s  most  frequent  stories  when  she  was 
taken  to  task  for  not  initiating  her  daughters  early  into  the 
routine  of  daily  domestic  cares,  was  this  :  “I  once  read  about  two 
Arabs  entering  on  a  competition  between  their  favorite  steeds. 
They  flew  over  the  ground  as  by  magic,  and  for  a  long  time  were 
neck  and  neck,  as  if  their  horses  had  been  paired  ;  then  one  shot 
a  short  distance  ahead  of  his  rival,  and  he  who  was  left  behind 
called  out,  ‘  Did  your  horse  ever  do  a  day’s  plowing?  7  ‘  Yes,’ 
was  the  answer,  ‘just  one  day.’  ‘Then  I  will  win  the  race,’ 
proudly  exclaimed  the  Arab  whose  horse  had  been  left  a  little 
behind,  ‘  for  the  steed  I  ride  has  lived  a  free  life  always,  and  never 


Scrap-books. 


66 1 

knew  a  plow.’  He  urged  him  forward  with  every  token  of  affec¬ 
tion  and  of  confidence,  outstripped  the  Arab  who  had  thought 
to  gain  the  race  and  came  in  with  grand  strides  to  the  goal  far 
in  advance  of  him.” 

My  mother’s  theory  was  not  that  girls  should  not  do  house¬ 
work,  but  that  if  they  distinctively  evinced  other  tastes  that  were 
good  and  noble,  they  should  be  allowed  to  follow  these  to  their 
conclusion,  and  that  in  doing  so  they  would  gain  most  happiness 
and  growth  themselves,  and  would  most  truly  help  forward  the 
progress  of  the  world. 

Mother  dictates  this  account  of  her  occupations  between 
seventy  and  eighty-four : 

A  capable  Swede  girl  named  Hannah  Swanson  was  with  us  the  best 
part  of  ten  years.  She  was  very  desirous  to  learn,  and  having  leisure  much 
of  the  time,  I  enjoyed  teaching  her,  she  was  so  earnest  and  appreciative. 
She  took  lessons  in  the  simple  rules  of  arithmetic,  read  history  and  paid 
some  attention  to  the  principles  of  English  grammar  ;  she  was  quick  to 
reckon  and  I  could  send  her  to  the  bank  or  to  pay  any  bills  and  found  her 
always  accurate.  I  taught  her  a  little  of  everything.  She  was  prominent 
in  the  Swedish  Sunday-school  and  in  church  work  in  her  own  church.  She 
is  now  happily  married,  has  a  comfortable  home  of  her  own.  While  she 
was  with  us  one  summer,  I  remember  I  thought  it  would  be  pleasant  for  her 
to  have  her  friends,  the  other  girls  who  worked  in  the  neighborhood,  come 
in  and  take  lessons  in  English.  So  I  gave  them  an  afternoon  each  week,  I 
think  it  was  Thursday.  They  were  bright,  improved  rapidly,  and  seemed 
very  happy ;  I  had  a  class  of  five  such  girls  for  years,  and  to  me  it  is  a  very 
pleasant  memory.  Since  I  gave  up  the  active  cares  of  the  family,  I  have 
amused  myself  one  year  (my  eighty-fourth)  by  keeping  a  journal  ;  writing 
in  it  every  day  things  that  seemed  to  me  to  be  of  interest,  and  choice  say¬ 
ings  of  the  good  and  gifted.  I  have  also  occupied  myself  by  clipping  from 
the  newspapers,  of  which  we  have  a  hundred  or  two  each  week,  such  things 
as  I  considered  to  have  superior  merit,  or  on  some  favorite  topic,  and  have 
preserved  them  in  scrap-books,  of  which  I  have  a  voluminous  collection, 
which  I  think  will  be  of  interest  to  the  younger  members  of  the  family  in 
years  to  come.  Though  fond  of  the  society  of  my  friends,  I  have  found 
pleasant  pastimes  in  these  occupations  in  my'  own  home.  I  have  preferred 
that  other  people  should  come  to  see  me,  rather  than  that  I  should  go  to 
see  them.  I  do  not  find  life  less  enjoyable  as  I  grow  older  and  the  cares 
fall  off.  I  have  a  world  full  of  people  to  sympathize  with  ;  many  to  love  ; 
many  to  deplore  ;  and  on  the  whole,  sufficent  to  interest  and  keep  the  sym¬ 
pathies  of  my  heart  alive.  I  have  none  but  kindly  feelings  for  any  human 
being  ;  and  there  is  no  person  whom  I  would  not  gladly  comfort  if  I  could  ; 
mdso  “  my  days  go  on,  go  on,”  without  haste  and  without  rest,  while  the 
ideal  future  lends  inspiration  to  my  buoyant  hopes. 


* 


662 


The  Do-every thing  Method. 


I  have  but  one  fault  to  find  with  mother :  she  strenuously 
insists  on  my  drinking  a  weak  decoction  of  tea  and  coffee  in  oppo¬ 
sition  to  my  declared  purpose,  and  I  think  it  right  to  state  the 
fact  publicly,  inasmuch  as  she  is  proud  of  it,  and  I  have  publicly 
given  in  good  faith  the  impression  that  tea  and  coffee  were  ban¬ 
ished  from  my  bill  of  fare. 

Miss  Mary  Allen  West,  editor  of  The  Union  Signal ,  and  one 
of  my  mother’s  chief  admirers,  asked  her  to  pencil  some  of  her 
views  on  the  training  of  children,  which  she  did  in  these  words  : 

I  have  been  asked  to  write  some  of  the  thoughts  suggested  by  my  exper¬ 
ience  in  training  my  own  children.  We  lived  in  Oberlin,  Ohio,  when  m3' 
children  were  in  their  infancy.  There  were  mothers’  meetings  at  stated 
Limes ;  I  felt  my  utter  inefficiency  to  train  these  young  immortals ;  I  was 
almost  always  present  at  the  meetings.  I  hoped  they  would  tell  me  just 
what  to  do,  so  that  having  the  approved  formula,  or  program,  I  might  make 
no  mistake.  But  new  conditions  were  constantly  arising,  and  in  my  despair 
I  said  to  a  wise  friend,  “I  don’t  learn  anything  from  those  meetings!  I 
don’t  know  what  to  do.  ”  He  said,  “They  are  making  an  impression  upon 
you  all  the  time.’’  It  gave  me  a  little  comfort  to  think  that  perhaps  down 
deeper  than  my  consciousness  I  was  gaining  a  gleam  of  light. 

And  now,  first  of  all,  I  would  insist,  teach  your  children  to  be  truth¬ 
ful ;  by  all  the  incentives  that  occur  to  your  prayerful  thought,  keep  the.r 
love  and  confidence  so  that  they  will  be  open  to  you  as  the  day.  Then  I 
would  recommend  the  do-every  thing  method,  according  to  the  varying  needs 
of  your  priceless  charge.  If  the  nerves  are  startled,  quiet  them  in  the  best 
way  you  can.  Don’t  put  y^our  child  into  a  dark  room  and  let  it  cry'  itself  to 
sleep.  It  would  be  more  motherly  to  hang  it  to  the  limb  of  a  tree,  like  an 
Indian  baby,  where  it  would  see  the  light  and  feel  the  gentle  motion  of  the 
breeze.  Don’t  regard  it  as  a  mere  animal,  only  to  be  fed  and  clothed.  It 
needs  sympathy  very  early  ;  it  smiles  back  your  love  when  only7  a  few  w'eeks 
old.  Never  punish  a  child  when  it  can  think  3rou  are  in  anger  or  about  to 
take  its  life.  It  will  be  so  frightened  as  to  lose  all  self-control.  You  may 
think  it  obstinacy  when  the  little  creature  is  in  a  frenzy  inspired  by  one  in 
whose  power  it  is  utterly'  helpless.  Mothers  should  try  to  keep  their  health, 
so  as  to  be  bright,  agreeable  company'  for  the  older  children,  and  to  be  pa¬ 
tient  with  the  little  ones.  I  know  this  is  easier  said  than  done,  especially 
if  the  mother  is  sick  or  overborne  with  care ;  but  the  attempt,  if  partially' 
unsuccessful,  will  not  fail  of  its  reward.  The  habit  of  unselfishness  and 
kindness  can  not  be  too  early  impressed.  The  mother  should  be  in  spirit 
and  manner,  or  should  aim  to  be,  such  as  she  desires  the  child  to  become.  I 
would  not  recommend  over  indulgence,  but  genuine  tenderness  and  love  can 
hardly  go  to  an  extreme,  especially  in  the  early  helpless  years.  If  compli¬ 
cations  arise  between  the  children,  do  not  let  them  accumulate.  Don’t  let 
ihe  little  ones  lie  awake  all  night  dreading  a  punishment  in  the  morning. 
Deal  with  each  case  at  once  upon  its  own  merits  without  referring  it  to  any 


Character-forming . 


663 


umpire  but  yourself.  When  they  are  old  enough  to  commence  study,  do 
not  be  indifferent  to  the  trials  they  meet  with  111  the  effort  to  solve  the,  to 
them,  difficult  problems,  but  solve  them  often  yourself ;  don’t  be  so  fearful 
about  weakening  their  self-reliance  and  desire  for  high  achievement  as  to 
the  future.  On  no  account  allow  them  to  be  discouraged  at  the  outset. 
Should  a  child  show  a  strong  bias  toward  any  laudable  line  of  life  that 
promises  self-support  and  easy  independence  I  would  encourage  this  ten¬ 
dency  with  all  my  power.  Try  to  cultivate  a  tender  conscience,  a  delicate 
sensitiveness  to  right  and  wrong.  I  would  place  the  acquisition  of  character 
infinitely  before  that  of  wealth,  desirable  as  is  a  moderate  share  of  the  latter. 
Wealth  ends  with  life,  character  is  immortal,  and  toward  perfection  all  our 
efforts  should  tend.  I  must  not  forget  my  pet  idea  to  be  more  careful  to 
praise  children  for  doing  well,  than  to  chide  them  for  doing  ill.  When  the 
children  are  young  and  in  the  mother’s  care  more  directly,  there  may  be  a 
feeling  of  comparative  safety,  but  when  they  bloom  into  young  men  and 
women,  and  begin  to  assume  personal  responsibility,  it  is  the  hour  of  doom 
which  threatens  to  make  or  mar  all  your  careful  handiwork.  Who  is  wise 
enough  to  counsel  then  ?  Silence  seems  safest,  but  silence  would  be  trea¬ 
son  ;  the  mother  must  have  the  heart  of  her  loved  ones  in  keeping  in  this 
hour  of  destiny  ;  no  one  can  be  consulted  with  such  safety  as  she,  and  she 
will  need  the  electric  light  of  Deity  to  guide  her  in  this  supreme  emergency. 
Who  can  arrest  the  flying  hours  ?  What  issues  hang  upon  the  decision  of  a 
moment !  She  can  find  refuge  only  in  Him  who  has  said,  “  If  ye  ask  any¬ 
thing  in  my  name  I  will  do  it.”  Here  she  may  anchor  in  a  sublime  faith 
that  the  young,  inexperienced,  and  adventurous  feet  may,  through  infinite 
riches  of  grace,  be  led  into  paths  of  safety,  usefulness,  and  to  a  lasting  peace. 

mother’s  retrospect  at  seventy-six. 

My  daughter  wishes  me  to  sketch  some  incidents  of  past  years  in  our 
Wisconsin  home.  But  who  can  picture  the  changing  skies  or  the  currents 
in  the  ocean?  Lives  are  experienced  not  written.  Young  life  came  to  me 
with  odors  wafted  from  eternity.  Feelings,  perceptions,  fancies  were 
mingled  in  a  kind  of  chaos.  Then  the  prospect  widened,  every  aspect  be¬ 
came  more  clearly  defined,  more  serious,  more  grave.  Then  came  a  very 
hopeful,  but  solemn  womanhood,  wifehood,  and  who  can  write  it — the  story 
of  my  motherhood  ?  My  life  would  not  have  been  more  changed  if  some 
white-robed  messenger  from  the  skies  had  come  to  me  and  said,  “  I  will  send 
five  spiritual  beings  into  your  arms  and  home.  Two  I  shall  soon  recall, 
three  may  remain.  It  is  a  momentous  charge,  potent  for  good  or  ill,  but  I 
will  help  you,  do  not  fear.”  Who  would  attempt  to  explain  the  change  that 
comes  to  the  home  where  such  mysterious  questions  are  entertained  ?  The 
material  care  demanded  by  helpless  infancy  ;  the  boundless  welcome  burst¬ 
ing  from  parental  hearts,  the  feeling  of  a  new  and  measureless  responsibility, 
the  unspeakable  tenderness  of  parental  love,  the  painful  consciousness  of 
limited  powers  in  the  presence  of  an  infinite  need.  We  can  not  stay  it,  hab¬ 
its  are  begun,  character  is  forming,  destiny  is  being  determined.  Here  are 
wise  little  faces  looking  up  to  you,  as  to  an  oracle,  every  nerve  of  the  soul 


664 


Life's  Changes. 


thrilling  to  your  slightest  touch,  divining  by  a  strange  intuition  your  tone 
and  spirit,  with  the  certainty  of  a  seraph.  Mother,  step  softly,  you  shall  be 
the  accepted  creed  of  these  young  immortals  ;  in  all  the  coming  years  these 
unwritten  lives  shall  herald  your  example  and  counsels  when  you  are  resting 
from  your  labors.  ' 

To  the  parent  as  to  the  child,  there  is  something  strangely  pathetic  in 
the  first  efforts  to  practice  its  infant  wings,  the  first  struggles  to  solve  the 
mysteries  of  its  being.  “Where  is  Christ?”  Frances  once  inquired  of  her 
father,  “  I  can  not  see  Him,  I  do  not  feel  His  arms  around  me.”  And  then 
how  inspiring  to  mark  the  change  when  the  soul  grasps  the  mystery  of  the 
atonement,  and  proves  by  the  development  of  childhood  into  maturity,  that 
the  spirit  searcheth  all  things,  even  the  deep  things  of  God.  Oliver,  when 
waiting  his  first  letter  to  his  grandmother,  was  told  he  could  improve  it  by 
rewriting  ;  he  did  so,  and  was  encouraged  by  being  told  he  had  bettered  it, 
and  was  then  asked  to  copy  it  again.  I  can  not  forget,  after  nearly  forty 
years,  how  despairingly  he  looked  up  and  said,  “  I  can  not  write  any  better 
with  my  present  amount  of  knowledge.”  I  saw  him  in  a  very  few  years 
with  plumed  wings,  ascending  to  a  high  intellectual  life,  beyond  the  realm 
of  my  thoughts.  The  quiet  happenings  in  our  farm-life,  remote  from  town, 
were  so  different  from  the  noisy  tumult  of  a  large  city  that  the  spirit  there 
was  a  direct  contrast  to  what  my  children  later  learned.  The  education  of 
the  children  was  more  the  result  of  circumstances  than  of  any  definite  plan, 
except  the  living  in  the  country ;  there  was  special  solicitude  in  regard  to 
their  intellectual  wants.  For  their  moral  training,  living  remote  from  the 
excitements  of  the  town,  and  depending  for  the  most  part  on  older  persons 
for  society,  the  conditions  were  not  unfavorable. 

Of  their  physical  education  there  is  not  much  to  be  said.  They  lived 
largely  in  the  outdoor  air.  Their  lives  wrere  free  from  restraint ;  their  plans 
seldom  or  never  opposed,  if  harmless  and  at  all  practicable. 

I  remember  once,  when  tired  and  weary  of  care,  I  went  to  my  room  and 
had  determined  on  a  restful  and  quiet  hour,  but  Frances  came  with  her  hands 
full  of  children’s  papers,  The  Myrtle  and  Youth’s  Cabinet.  “  I  came,  my 
dear,  to  be  alone  and  to  think  my  own  thoughts,”  I  said.  She  seated  herself 
upon  the  carpet,  and  with  perfect  nonchalance,  remarked,  “It  is  natural 
that  I  should  want  to  be  with  my  mother,  and  I  mean  to  be,”  then  proceeded 
to  read  her  papers,  to  which  there  was  no  further  objection  made. 

Oh  !  these  little  girls  and  boys  that  come  to  our  homes  and  play  with 
their  pets,  and  are  so  conscious  of  safety  if  by  our  side,  then  reaching  ma¬ 
turity,  assume  bravely  life’s  duties,  and  stand  erect  under  its  mountain-load 
of  care !  or  dying  fold  the  Redeemer  to  their  hearts,  saying,  as  did  our 
dearly  beloved  Mary,  who,  when  being  asked  by  her  mother  in  her  last  sick¬ 
ness  “what  she  could  do  for  her,”  said,  “  Put  your  arms  around  me  and 
press  your  cheek  to  mine,  that  is  all  I  want.”  Thus  one  of  the  loveliest 
beings  that  ever  visited  this  world  of  mystery,  lovely  in  person  as  in  charac¬ 
ter,  beautiful  as  good,  and  good  as  beautiful,  passed  from  our  stricken 
hearts  and  home  to  holy  regions  out  of  sight. 


u  Si tting  in  Szin s/i in c.  ’ ' 


665 


Motherhood  is  life’s  richest  and  most  delicious  romance,  and  sitting  in 
sunshine  calm  and  sweet,  with  all  my  precious  ones  upon  the  other  side, 
save  the  daughter  who  so  faithfully  cherishes  me  here,  I  thank  God  most 
of  all  that  he  ever  said  to  me,  “  Bring  up  this  child  for  me  in  the  love  of 
humanity  and  in  the  expectation  of  immortal  life.” 


666 


Audacious  and  Conservative. 


i 


FATHER. 

* 

Mother’s  description  of  my  father  is  as  follows  : 

Of  fine  personal  appearance,  tall,  rather  slight,  a  well-poised  head,  dark 
blue  eyes,  square  forehead  and  strong  chin,  a  firm  mouth,  dark,  full,  and 
ornamental  hair  and  beard. 

Mr.  Willard  was  select  and  true  in  his  friendships  ;  devout  in  religion  ; 
honorable  and  exact  in  business  relations ;  proud  of  his  children,  though 
undemonstrative  ;  versatile  in  affairs  ;  analytical  in  his  judgments  of  persons 
and  principles  ;  reserved  and  dignified  to  outsiders  ;  easily  accessible  to  only 
a  few ;  fond  of  nature  and  books,  to  which  he  was  especially  drawn  in  all 
matters  pertaining  to  horticulture. 

He  was  an  amateur  artist,  and  most  appreciative  student  of  the  writings 
of  A.  J.  Downing.  He  had  towering  aspirations  and  a  consciousness  of 
reserved  power,  and  was  a  marked  and  positive  character,  who  achieved 
honorable  distinction  both  in  business  and  public  positions. 

Relative  to  his  unique  utterances,  Dr.  Bonbright,  one  of  his 
most  valued  friends,  once  said  to  me,  “  Your  father  was  the  most 
audacious  man  in  speech,  and  the  most  conservative  in  action, 
that  I  have  ever  known.”  He  wTas  thoroughly  intellectual,  and 
an  insatiate  reader,  a  life-long  habit  of  the  house  being  that  we 
all  went  to  bed  early  except  father,  who  would  sit  up  after  the 
rest,  saying  he  was  going  to  read  mother  to  sleep,  a  feat  speedily 
accomplished,  after  which  he  sat  alone  for  hours,  poring  over  his 
books. 

He  had  exceedingly  fine  taste,  but  I  always  thought  he 
made  a  mistake  in  directing  everything  not  only  about  the  farm 
and  the  beautiful  garden  and  grounds,  but  also  the  minutest  ex¬ 
pense  within  doors.  This  was  not  because  mother  wras  extrava¬ 
gant,  for  she  was  a  thrifty  though  never  a  niggardly  housekeeper, 
and  she  had  excellent  capacity  in  buying  whatever  goods  were 
needed  for  the  family,  but  father  fell  into  the  habit  of  buying 
everything  himself.  Indeed,  he  selected  nearly  all  our  dresses 
and  bonnets,  mother  saying  nothing  about  it,  though  I  think  she 


* ‘  Father'' s  Monuments. ’ ’ 


667 


would  have  been  glad  to  have  had  it  different.  Very  likely  this 
resulted  from  his  being  almost  every  day  in  town,  where  all  these 
things  were  to  be  had,  while  mother  stayed  with  the  children, 
because  it  was  a  solemn  compact  between  them  that  both  of  them 
should  never  leave  us  at  a  time.  My  mother’s  abounding  good 
health  must  have  had  to  do  with  her  always  cheery  spirits  and 
equable  temper.  My  father  was  a  life-long  invalid,  though  so 
brave  and  forceful  that  he  said  very  little  about  it,  but  his  lungs 
were  greatly  weakened  and  he  not  only  had  several  hemorrhages, 
but  suffered  from  their  frequently  threatened  recurrence.  All 
this,  of  course,  affected  his  disposition  and  made  him  more  irri¬ 
table  than  heotherwi.se  would  have  been,  though  I  would  not 
on  any  account  represent  him  as  other  than  a  kind  man  in  his 
home,  for  he  certainly  was  so  in  intention,  and  usually  in  action. 
He  was  very  loyal  to  all  the  ties  that  he  had  formed  in  life,  to 
kindred,  neighbors,  associates  in  church  and  business,  yet  he 
disdained  •  anything  frivolous,  was  a  Cromwellian  sort  of  man  in 
his  loyalty,  and  in  his  convictions  of  duty. 

Every  home  in  which  my  father  lived  has  memorials  of  him 
in  the  way  of  beautiful  evergreens.  He  planted  more  trees  and 
loved  them  better  than  any  other  person  I  ever  knew.  Rest  Cot¬ 
tage  was  built  by  him  on  a  large  area  of  ground  that  was  simply 
a  marsh,  considered  perhaps  as  undesirable  a  lot  as  there  was  in 
Evanston,  except  for  its  location  on  the  principal  street,  about  a 
block  and  a  half  from  the  University  campus.  Now  there  is  not 
a  handsomer  row  of  elms  in  the  beautiful  college  town  than  the 
double  row  that  stands  in  front  of  our  home,  shown  in  the  picture 
entitled  “  Picturesque  Evanston,”  and  known  by  us  as  “  Father’s 
Monument.” 

My  Uncle  Zophar  says  there  was  nothing  so  pitiful  in  father’s 
long  illness  during  which  he  was  with  us  at  the  home  of  this 
dear  uncle,  as  his  lamentation,  sometimes  with  tears,  when  he 
would  tell  the  story  of  the  Irishman  who  died  away  from  home, 
and  who,  grieving  in  his  homesickness,  would  repeat  over  and 
over  again  that  he  should  see  his  “beautiful  Belle  Valley  no 
more.”  My  father  said  to  his  brother  that  his  greatest  sorrow 
was  that  he  should  no  more  see  Rest  Cottage,  which  his  loving 
skill  had  translated  from  a  swamp  into  a  charm. 

In  1848,  father  was  one  of  thirteen  Free-soilers  in  the  Madi- 


♦ 


668  The  Earthly  Side. 

son  legislature  who  held  the  balance  of  power  to  such  a  degree 
that  an  excellent  law  was  secured  through  their  instrumentality 
although  they  belonged  to  a  third  party,  the  Democrats  and 
Whigs  being  the  twro  great  parties,  and  fully  convinced  that  wis¬ 
dom  would  die  with  them. 

It  interests  me  not  a  little  that  Hon.  Samuel  D.  Hastings, 
who  was  a  fellow-member  of  the  Legislature  with  my  father,  and 
a  valued  friend  of  his,  should  now  be  treasurer  of  the  Prohibition 
party  and  one  of  my  most  valued  associates  and  friends  in  that 
party’s  Executive  Committee.  If  such  a  suggestion  had  then 
been  made  to  either  of  these  men,  they  would  have  said  that  no 
woman  would  ever  hold  such  a  relation  to  politics  unless  chaos 
and  old  night  had  settled  down  upon  the  world,  whereas  the  facts 
are  that  order  and  the  rising  day  are  the  fitting  emblems  of  the 
change  that  makes  this  possible. 

For  one  year  my  father’s  feeble  frame  endured  that  most  ter¬ 
rible  disease,  consumption.  It  crept  upon  him  slowly,  allowing 
him  a  daily  respite  at  first,  attacking  him  with  great  violence  in 
the  early  months  of  summer,  pursuing  him  when  he  left  his  home 
on  the  lake-shore  as  the  chilly  winds  of  autumn  began  to  blow, 
and  went  to  his  friends  at  the  East,  hoping  much  from  change  of 
air  and  scene  ;  confining  him  constantly  to  his  bed  for  four  months, 
wasting  him  to  a  mere  skeleton,  and  finally,  in  untold  suffering, 
wresting  away  his  last  faint  breath.  This  is  the  earthly  side  ; 
not  so  stands  the  record,  thank  God,  upon  the  heavenly  side. 
Almost  from  the  first,  he  thought  it  would  be  his  last  illness,  and 
quietly,  diligently,  and  wisely  proceeded  to  arrange  his  earthly 
affairs.  No  item,  however  minute,  seemed  to  escape  him. 
Whatever  was  of  the  least  importance  to  his  family,  whatever 
friendship,  or  acquaintance,  or  any  of  his  relations  in  life  demanded 
or  suggested,  ever  so  faintly,  was  done  by  him. 

Much  that  he  said  has  been  preserved,  and  dimly  shadows 
the  delightful  visions  by  which  the  sick-room  was  made  sacred. 
Extracts  from  these  memoranda  show  the  experience  of  his  last 
days  on  earth  : 

Once  when  a  dear  friend  sat  beside  him,  while  his  cheek  wore  the  hectic 
flush,  he  said  :  “If  Christ  sat  here,  as  you  do,  by  my  side,  and  said  to  me, 

‘  My  dear  brother,  what  can  I  do  for  you,  in  any  way  that  I  have  not  already 
done?  ’  I  should  say,  ‘  Nothing,  beloved  Lord  !  ’  ” 


The  Heavenly  Side.  669 

Speaking  of  that  wondrous  verse,  “And  ye  are  Christ’s,  and  Christ  is 
God’s,”  he  said  : 

“  What  a  stupendous  meaning  is  in  those  words !  Think  them  over  for 
yourself !  Ah,  as  one  nears  the  border  of  that  plane  which  breaks  off  sud¬ 
denly,  these  things  grow  clearer  to  the  mind.” 

September  19. — I  was  writing  up  his  brief  diary  and  he  said  : 

“  I  did  not  mention  it,  but  you  might  put  it  in  every  day,  ‘  Peace,  great 
peace  in  God.’  ” 

September  22. — He  talked  long  and  in  a  most  interesting  way  about 
faith — always  his  favorite  theme — concluding  with  these  striking  words  : 

“  ‘Trust  me  and  I’ll  take  care  of  you  that’s  what  Christ  says.  That’s 
religion  and  that’s  good  for  something  !  Walk  right  out  on  this  plank  into 
the  dark  eternity;  when  you  come  to  the  end  of  the  plank,  Christ  will  be 
there  to  catch  you.” 

November  23. — Referring  to  a  plan  he  had  feebly  sketched  in  pencil  of 
the  family  burialTots  in  Rose  Hill  Cemetery,  he  said  : 

“  I  drew  this  with  as  much  pleasure  as  I  ever  planned  a  garden.  How 
God  can  change  men’s  minds !  I  never  used  to  think  about  our  cemetery 
lots,  but  now  I  very  often  do,  and  love  to  call  them  our  family  home— our 
blessed  family  home  !  ”  (Uttering  these  words  with  tears.) 

November  24. — “I  have  often  thought  of  late  how  much  richer  I  am 
than  any  Emperor.  An  Emperor  has  this  world  to  back  him,  to  be  sure,  but 
think  of  me  !  I  have  God  and  His  universe  on  my  side,  because  of  the  child¬ 
like  faith  which  I,  a  poor,  trembling,  dying  man,  repose  in  my  Redeemer ! 
This  is  a  high  truth— a  wonderfully  inspiring  thought.  People  who  are  well 
don’t  know  anything  about  my  feelings  in^  these  crisis  hours.  Ah  !  I’ve 
rested  my  case  with  the  eternal  God  !  ” 

December  2. — Rev.  J.  N.  Simkins  (whose  kind  attentions  were  a  great 
comfort  to  him)  called.  Father  said  to  him,  very  naturally,  “  I  have  been 
dictating  letters,  having  business  papers  filed,  etc.  It’s  a  good  deal  of  work, 
getting  ready  for  so  long  a  journey.  You  know  there  are  so  many  ‘last 
things  ’  to  be  regulated  !  ” 

“  The  doctrine  of  sanctification  by  faith  in  Christ,  preceded  by  entire 
self-surrender  to  Him,  is  unspeakably  dear  to  me.  It  should  be  fearlessly 
preached  from  our  pulpits  and  earnestly  sought  by  our  people.  How  little 
does  one  know  of  his  powers  of  submission  until  the  Holy  Spirit  helps  and 
teaches  him  !  How  God  can  humble  and  chasten  a  strong,  self-reliant  man, 
until  he  lies  in  His  hand  like  a  simple,  loving,  teachable  child  !  The  hour 
in  which  he  does  this  is  life’s  holiest,  truest  hour.” 

Extracts  from  a  dictated  letter  ; 

My  Dear  Sister  Bragdon — Your  poor  friend  lies  helpless  in  the 
arms  of  Jesus,  wraiting  to  depart.  I  often  think  of  you  and  of  your  little 
family  gathered  up  there  in  your  cozy  home  so  near  that  dear  home  of  mine 
which  I  had  hoped  longer  to  enjoy,  but  which  I  have  given  up,  though  not 
without  many  a  bitter  pang.  But  it  wras  one  of  the  sacrifices  of  this  life 
which  I  must  make  before  going  to  my  glorious  home  in  heaven.  I  expect 
we  shall  be  again  settled  near  each  other  in  a  better  world.  I’m  going  soon, 


670 


“As  God  Wills." 


to  take  possession  of  my  mansion,  and  perhaps  I  shall  see,  marked  with 
golden  letters,  the  name  of  my  Sister  Bragdon  upon  the  one  adjoining,  the 
one  awaiting  her.  I  expect  to  find  Brother  Bragdon  quite  at  home  and  able 
to  lead  me  by  the  hand  to  pleasant  pathways  and  delightful  contemplation 
of  the  marvels  of  that  world  which  he  has  now  for  several  years  enjoyed. 

I  praise  God  for  our  prospects,  and  believe  the  day  is  not  far  distant 
when  your  family  and  mine  and  all  our  dear  friends  will  be  spending  our 
years  unitedly  in  heaven. 

January  21. — I  sang  his  favorite  verse  : 

“  Take  my  poor  heart  and  let  it  be 
Forever  closed  to  all  but  Thee.” 

He  said,  “  Oh,  my  child,  that  is  my  prayer  for  you — perhaps  the  last  I  shall 
ever  breathe,  but  it  is  enough.  For  saint  or  sinner,  it  does  not  matter  who, 
that  is  the  most  elevated  purpose  of  which  a  human  mind  can  be  possessed.  ” 

“Brush  up  the  evergreens  in  the  garden  and  let  them  stand  -emblems 
as  they  are  of  an  immortal  life — mementos  of  my  last  work  on  earth.  You 
will  want  a  crocus  bed  in  our  garden  next  spring — don’t  forget  that.  Go  to 
the  greenhouse  at  Rose  Hill  for  plants  of  all  kinds  that  you  need.  Re¬ 
member  how  fond  I  was  of  flowers,  and  do  as  I  would  have  done  if  I  had 
lived.  I  expect  you  will  observe  nature  more  than  ever  when  I  am  gone.” 

January  22. — His  sister,  Mrs.  Robinson,  said  to  him  :  “  Josiah,  we  do 

not  know  how  to  spare  you — there  are  not  many  of  us  now.”  He  answered 
cheerfully  :  “You  spared  me  when  I  wras  a  boy  of  sixteen,  to  go  from  home  ; 
later  in  life  you  spared  me  to  go  West  and  live  for  many  years  ;  the  time 
that  you  will  have  to  spare  me  now  won’t  be  so  long  as  those  times  in  the 
past.” 

“As  I  waked  up  just  now  and  consciousness  came  over  me,  this  question 
flashed  over  my  mind  :  ‘  Is  it  possible  that  there  is  any  unsafety — any  unsafety 
for  me  ai^where  in  God’s  universe  ?’  My  child  !  That  is  a  startling  thought 
to  one  just  going  into  the  unknown  wTorld.  But  in  a  moment  I  settled  down 
again  quietly,  saying  to  myself :  ‘  No,  I’m  safe  in  any  event !  I  am  safe  by 

the  mercy  of  my  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ.’  If  I  have  one  strong  wish 
which  is  not  a  heavenly  aspiration,  it  is  that  I  may  die  w'ith  a  clear  intellect ; 
that  I  may  be  able  to  look  God  in  the  face  as  I  go  into  His  presence,  and 
into  the  eternal  world. 

“  I  look  forward  to  a  scene  like  that  when  our  dear  Mary  went  to  heaven, 
as  a  pleasant  scene, — the  pleasantest  of  all  my  history  here  on  earth.  But 
I  shall  be  unconscious  in  that  final  hour,  perhaps,  notwithstanding  my  de¬ 
sire.  May  it  be  just  as  God  wills.” 

God  willed  to  take  him  one  cold  winter  night,  January  24, 
1868,  in  storm  and  darkness,  to  take  him  in  an  hour  when  con¬ 
sciousness  was  clouded  and  the  power  of  speech  was  gone. 

A  little  while  before  his  death  we  caught  these  words,  among 
the  last  indistinct  utterances  of  his  receding  spirit  : 

“  Jesus — take  me — take  me  to  Thyself." 


Young  Theologues . 


671 


BITS  FROM  MY  NOTE-BOOK. 

CONCERNING  TABRE-D’HOTE. 

This  is  a  subject  so  rich  in  humor  and  philosophy  that  the 
silence  of  travelers  concerning  it  is  without  other  explanation 
than  that  afforded  by  the  homely  old  proverb,  ‘  ‘  A  burned  child 
dreads  the  fire  ” ;  to  the  average  tourist,  fresh  from  an  uncon¬ 
ventional  American  home,  the  ordeal  of  an  English  table-d' hote — 
usually  the  form  of  this  phenomenon  that  first  presents  itself— is 
sufficiently  trying  to  make  upon  a  sensitive  epidermis,  impres¬ 
sions  of  a  lasting  character. 

But  be  it  ours  to  rise  superior  to  this  weakness,  and  to  offer 
ourselves  as  martyrs  to  the  promulgation  of  some  notions  touch¬ 
ing  the  mighty  Juggernaut  of  the  European  hotel  system. 

Call  we  then  to  mind  our  first  solemn  down-sitting  before 
“the  table  of  the  host.”  It  was  at  the  Takes  of  Killarney — 
“Royal  Victoria’ ’  Hotel.  There  was  such  a  land-and-water- 
scape  outside  the  windows  as  rarely  meets  the  eye  ;  but  some¬ 
thing  close  at  hand  obscured  it — namely,  one  dozen  dinner-plates; 
for  there  was  an  officious  young  clergymen,  in  white  cravat  and 
claw-hammer  coat,  who,  aided  and  abetted  by  the  whole  senior 
class  of  a  theological  seminary,  seemed  to  have  an  eye  single  to 
despoiling  us  of  our  trenchers  at  intervals  so  frequent  that  our 
plate  of  soup  was  hastier  than  General  Scott’s,  and  our  salmon 
melted  away  like  the  fabled  draught  from  the  lips  of  mythologic 
Tantalus.  So  unequal,  indeed,  was  our  game  of  knife-and-fork 
to  his  brilliant  maneuvers  of  spoliation,  that  we  soon  resigned 
ourselves  in  desperation  to  our  fate,  while  this  thought  flashed 
cheerfully  athwart  the  chaos  of  consciousness  :  ‘  ‘  Who  says  we 

can’t  have  tea  and  toast  upstairs,  in  spite  of  these  theologues, 
when  this  horrid  farce  is  over?  ’’  Words  are  inadequate  to  meas¬ 
ure  the  degree  of  awe  that  the  chief  of  these  young  men  inspired. 


672 


Viscount  Fitz- Noodle. 


Such  a  sense  of  helplessness  and  ignorance  of  the  world  as  his 
very  glance  created,  can  only  be  compared  to  the  emotions  which 
Steerforth’s  “  man”  aroused  in  the  gentle  breast  of  David  Cop- 
perfield  ;  for  he  was  thoroughly  master  of  the  situation — and  the 
situation  was  so  frightfully  new  to  us  !  Indeed,  I  shall  always 
believe  he  racked  his  brain  on  this  occasion  to  impale  me  upon 
dilemmas  whose  horns  were  never  before  brandished,  and  at 
junctures  the  most  unexpected.  His  unctuous  voice,  using 
faultless  French,  glided  over  lists  of  unimagined  delicacies, 
and  his  pause  was  as  the  silence  of  fate,  while  I  made  election 
of  “the  last”  with  a  presence  of  mind  that  astonishes  me  as  I 
contemplate  it.  Nor  was  this  all.  Eight  English  dames  and 
seven  bald-headed  gentlemen,  written  all  over  with  the  marks  of 
the  most  unmistakable  gentility,  surrounded  this  aristocratic 
board.  A  hush  was  in  the  air,  suggesting  to  my  feverish  fancy 
that  a  ghost  was  at  the  banquet ;  while  the  decorum  of  each 
movement,  the  measured  rhythm  of  those  noble  jaws,  and  the 
geometric  precision  of  those  mouthfuls  of  roast  beef,  recalled  that 
period  in  history  when  dining  was  a  ceremony  of  religion.  Nor 
was  this  all.  Opposite  sat  Viscount  Fitz-Noodle.  To  see  this 
scion  of  a  noble  race  recruit  exhausted  nature  was  my  despair. 
What  a  perfect  connoisseur  was  he  in  all  culinary  things  !  how 
thorough  was  his  mastery  of  the  mystic  Art  of  Dining  !  It  haunts 
me  still,  that  high-bred  face,  that  Cupid’s  bow  of  a  moustache, 
that  faultless  hand  with  fairy  wine-glass  poised  between  the  first 
and  second  of  its  taper  fingers,  regardless  of  so  commonplace  a 
grasper  as  the  thumb.  Less  pleasing  was  the  merciless  glass 
screwed  beneath  a  patronizing  eyebrow,  in  the  long  intervals  of 
the  repast,  and  the  anatomizing  glance  across  the  table  at  his 
vis-a-vis.  But  never  mind — bread  and  cheese  came  at  last,  and 
then  the  Charlotte  Russe  and  the  signal  that  the  ceremonies  were 
concluded,  from  Eady  Weazened,  at  the  table’s  head. 

Thus  ended  my  initiation  into  that  vast  and  highly  respect¬ 
able  company  who  learn  by  what  they  suffer  at  table-d'  hote ;  for 
be  it  mildly  intimated  to  all  “  intending  tourists,”  that  he  who 
declines  to  avail  himself  of  this  means  of  grace  falls  at  once  to 
zero  upon  the  social  scale  and  takes  his  modest  steak  or  slice  of 
beef,  as  he  can  catch  it,  after  the  elect,  at  a  dollar  or  two  per 
head,  are  served. 


On  the  Continent. 


673 


Upon  the  continent  this  service  is  often  really  enjoyable.  It 
is  far  less  formal  than  in  England,  everybody  talking  freely  with 
his  neighbor,  so  that  the  grinding  of  one’s  own  molars  is  not  all 
the  sound  one  hears.  Besides,  the  requisitions  of  the  toilet  are 
not  so  rigid,  the  time  occupied  is  less,  and  when  one’s  initi¬ 
ation  is  well  over,  table-d1  hote  is  rather  agreeable  as  a  study 
of  customs  and  character.  A  racy  book  would  that  be  which 
Mark  Twain  might  write  on  “  The  Table-dl  hote  of  Different  Na¬ 
tions  f  since  the  most  prosy  traveler’s  “Notes”  yield  material 
varied  and  amusing.  For  example  :  In  Denmark  they  bring 
one’s  “  portion  ”  of  tea  to  the  table  in  a  small  silver  box,  with  a 
curious  contrivance  —  a  combination  of  furnace  and  tea-pot  —  in 
which  one  prepares  it  as  he  best  can.  In  Sweden,  before  sitting 
down,  the  gentlemen,  at  a  side- table,  take  off  or  put  on  the  edge 
to  their  appetites  —  we  could  never  exactly  determine  which  — 
over  sandwiches,  sardines,  and  gin.  In  Russia,  also,  one  learns 
to  relish  a  slice  of  lemon  in  one’s  tea,  though  travelers  seldom 
fall  into  the  custom  of  drinking  it  from  tumblers,  b  la  Muscovite  ; 
and  in  a  Moscow  restaurant,  where  ladies  lean  back  in  their 
chairs,  enjoying  cigarettes,  the  waiter  brings  you  with  the  bill  of 
fare,  a  list  of  tunes  from  which  you  select  what  you  will  listen  to 
as  you  take  an  ice,  whereupon  a  huge  hand-organ  grinds  it  out 
for  your  aesthetic  delectation.  Coming  up  the  Danube  on  the 
elegant  steamer  Orient,  a  grim  old  Turk  sat  opposite  our  party, 
and  it  was  something  other  than  amusing  to  see  him  eat  dried 
herring,  tail  and  all.  Germany  and  Egypt  have  one  heathenish 
custom  in  common — that  of  supplying  the  tables  with  candles 
which  are  lighted  during  dessert,  and  are  a  signal  and  means  for 
igniting  the  gentlemen’s  cigars,  which  soon  emit  smoke  enough 
to  drive  any  but  a  very  strong-diaphragmed  lady  from  the  table. 

Going  up  the  Nile  we  had  a  droll  table- d'hote  : 

It  was  the  steamship  Behera  that  sailed  the  Nile’s  broad  sea, 

And  fifty  hungry  tourists  that  formed  the  company. 

We  were  divided  into  two  parties  and  dined  fore  and  aft, 
according  as  we  had  or  had  not  “  come  out  ”  with  Thomas  Cook, 
“Tourist  Manager,”  from  Eondon.  Being,  happily  and  unhap¬ 
pily,  among  the  “  had  nots,”  we  were  classed  with  those  who 
occupied  the  sailors’  cabin  instead  of  the  saloon  ;  and  one  of 


674 


Asiatic  Style. 


our  companions  —  a  nice  old  English  tea- merchant  —  used  to 
watch  the  dishes  as  they  came  up  from  below,  or  rather  down 
from  above  (though  they  had  none  of  manna’s  gracious  quali¬ 
ties),  and  report  the  unfairness  with  which  the  dainties  (?)  were 
dealt  out. 

At  Suez  we  were  served  with  Red  Sea  fish  and  mountain 
honey,  by  tall,  handsome  waiters  from  Hindustan,  in  the  tight- 
fitting  linen  garments  of  their  country.  Their  only  English 
words  were  ‘  ‘  Tank  you  ’  ’ ;  and  they  repeated  these  in  their  soft 
tones  even  when  berated  by  irate  English  colonels.  At  Damas¬ 
cus,  solemn  Syrians  in  Turkish  costume  were  our- waiters  ;  and 
at  Moscow,  Tartars  with  inconvenient  paucity  of  expression  and 
close-cropped  hair.  In  Constantinople,  on  Greek  Easter  Sunday, 
two  ‘  ‘  Paschal  Eambs  ’  ’  flanked  by  plates  of  red  eggs  formed  a 
leading  feature  of  our  table- cT hote.  Odd  enough  they  looked, 
with  a  lemon  apiece  squeezed  between  their  herbivorous  jaws, 
double  rosettes  of  white  paper  garnishing  their  tails,  and  lettuce 
leaves  fastened  to  their  sides  with  silver  spikes.  But  our  Jeru¬ 
salem  table-dl  hote  was  the  most  unique.  Nobody  could  here 
object  that  he  was  n’t  at  his  ease.  We  used  to  go  to  the  “  cup¬ 
board  ’  ’  and  help  ourselves,  under  the  very  eyes  of  the  dark- 
skinned  proprietor.  One  day  a  gentleman  of  our  party  happened 
to  upset  his  coffee-cup  on  the  already  copper-colored  cloth.  Mine 
host  looked  so  seriously  afflicted  at  this  that  we  tried  to  console 
him  by  suggesting  that  a  napkin  be  laid  over  the  offending  stain, 
adding  —  as  conclusive  authority  for  such  a  device  —  “That’s 
the  way  they  do  at  Paris.”  He  raised  his  hand  in  energetic  dep¬ 
recation,  exclaiming,  “You  may  think  so,  lady,  and  the  people 
may  do  so  if  they  like  in  Paris,  but  I  can  tell  you  it  won’t 
answer  for  Jerusalem  !”  Next  day  we  had  a  spotless  damask 

v 

cloth  —  the  only  clean  feature  the  table  could  boast. 

*** 

„  In  the  autumn  and  winter  of  1869  and  ’70  we  were  in  Rome, 
studying  Italian,  and  studying  also  the  wonderful  palimpsest  of 
that  enchanting  city.  Most  of  all  I  delighted  to  spend  my  days 
in  the  gallery  of  the  Vatican  where  Raphael’s  Transfiguration, 
and  the  Greek  statue  of  the  Minerva  Medici  were  my  favorite 
studies.  To  write  about  the  Transfiguration  were  an  imperti¬ 
nence,  and  of  the  Minerva  I  have  only  to  say  that  she  seemed  to 


The  Children's  Page, 


675 


me  the  embodiment  of  perfect  equipoise  of  regal  strength,  and 
the  most  soothing  and  womanlike  helpfulness.  Perceiving  it  to 
be  my  favorite  of  all  the  marvels  we  had  seen  in  all  the  galleries, 
my  friend,  Kate  Jackson,  had  the  head  cut  for  me  on  a  cameo  by 
Tignani,  the  finest  cameo  artist  in  Rome,  and  ever  since  this  has 
been  my  preferred  and  almost  my  only  ornament. 

FOR  THE  CHILDREN. 

In  looking  over  ‘  ‘  books  for  big  folks,  ’  ’  as  the  children  say, 
I  used  in  my  own  childhood  to  wish  that  somewhere  between  the 
covers  they  had  remembered  my  own  small  self,  and  put  in  a 
picture  or  a  word  that  I  could  claim.  So  when  I  found  that  some 
bright-tinted  pages  were  provided  for,  I  fell  to  thinking  of  one  for 
the  little  folks.  Our  kind  business  manager  favored  my  views, 
so  you  have  a  picture  in  colors  of  four  of  my  special  treasures, 
joined  with  the  blue  ribbon  that  so  many  earnest  men  have  worn 
upon  their  breasts  in  their  heroic  fight  for  a  clear  brain.  The 
traveling  bag,  “Old  Faithful,”  that  I  have  carried  to  every  state 
and  territory  of  our  blessed  Republic  and  to  one  thousand  of  its 
towns  and  cities  ;  out  of  which  from  the  cars,  which  are  my  cus¬ 
tomary  workshop,  tens  of  thousands  of  articles,  paragraphs,  let¬ 
ters  and  postals  have  gone  forth  on  their  home-protection  errands  ; 
out  of  which  have  come  the  ‘  ‘  Documents  ’  ’  that  have  led  to 
founding  local  unions  from  Victoria  on  Puget  Sound  to  San  An¬ 
tonio,  Texas  ;  to  say  nothing  of  gospel  temperance  speeches — for 
I  make  no  other — on  prohibition,  woman’s  ballot,  philanthropic 
politics,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  My  ten-cent  New  Testament,  car¬ 
ried  in  almost  all  these  campaigns,  explains,  I  hope  and  pray, 
what  the  traveling  bag  is  for.  My  silver  cup  and  medal  for  a 
prize  essay  are  described  on  page  69,  and  the  cameo  representing 
the  Minerva  of  the  Vatican  is  mentioned  above.  The  most  inter¬ 
esting  relic  on  the  page  is  Father  Mathew’s  medal,  given  by  his 
own  hand  to  Mrs.  Kate  Crossley  McGowan,  of  Youghal,  Ireland, 
when  she  was  a  child,  and  bestowed  on  me  by  that  gifted 
Christian  worker,  in  Chicago,  in  1878.  The  entire  page  gives  to 
thoughtful  mothers  many  a  text  on  that  curious,  hopeful,  twofold 
theme,  Woman  and  Temperance.  What  the  flowers  are  I  have 
been  unable  to  make  out,  so  I  submit  the  question  to  the  children 
as  a  botanical  conundrum. 


676 


Father's  Phrases , 


FAMILY  IDIOMS. 

Every  household  has  its  own  vernacular  and  it  would  be  a 
most  interesting  study  to  make  a  list  of  the  words  and  expres¬ 
sions  that  are  peculiar  to  different  homes. 

The  study  of  family  idioms  is  often  more  curious  and  self- 
revelatory  than  that  of  national  idioms,  for  the  field  is  smaller 
and  the  generalization  not  so  difficult  to  make.  I  think  the 
philological  society  should  send  out  its  circular  for  a  list  of  family 
idioms,  as  the  psychological  society  has  sent  out  its  request  for 
a  list  of  family  spooks. 

Our  family  had  its  full  share  of  these  peculiar  phrases. 
When  wTe  would  become  somewhat  rampant  in  our  sense  of  self- 
sufficiency,  my  father  would  raise  his  heavy  eyebrows,  gaze 
upon  us  with  a  queer  grimace,  and  ask  in  his  significant,  sar¬ 
castic  tones,  ‘  ‘  Who  dug  you  up  and  set  you  going  ?  ’  ’  When 
he  wished  to  express  the  ultimate  of  distrust  concerning  any 
individual  he  would  say,  “  I  would  not  set  him  with  the  dogs  of 
my  flock.” 

Once  when  I  spoke  to  him  quite  flippantly,  he  remarked, 

‘  ‘  Do  you  know  that  what  you  are  saying  is  simply  the  puling  of 
an  inanity  ?  ”  I  did  not  proceed  with  my  observation. 

One  of  my  father’s  most  frequent  phrases  was,  “Have  you 
got  the  victory  in  you?”  also  this,  “If  it’s  in  it’s  in,  and  will 
come  out,  but  what’s  wanting  can’t  be  numbered.” 

We  always  spoke  of  yeast  as  “emptin’s.”  We  children 
were  quite  apt  to  become  boisterous  in  our  fun  when  lessons  were 
over  in  the  evening  ;  my  father,  when  he  could  bear  it  no  longer, 
would  rap  on  the  table  and  say,  ‘  ‘  This  is  nothing  but  running 
emptin’s,  you  young  ones  must  go  straight  to  bed.” 

INVITATIONS. 

Anna  Gordon  says  that  often  in  the  letters,  which  she  looks 
over  first,  giving  me  only  those  that  are  important  for  me  to  read, 
occur  such  words  as  these,  coupled  with,  perhaps,  a  thrice- 
repeated  invitation  to  speak  in  a  given  town  :  “It  is  evident  she 
does  not  care  to  come  to  us,  for  we  have  asked  her  often .  ”  It 
afflicts  me  that  my  friends  should  write  in  this  way,  for  if  they 
knew  the  actual  situation  they  would  see  how  impossible  it  is 
for  me  to  go.  I  have  spent  ten  years  chiefly  upon  railroad  trains, 


677 


The  Doll  Question. 

going  to  little  and  large  towns  alike,  but  now  when  my  dear 
mother  is  so  old  I  can  not  do  as  I  would  otherwise.  Besides, 
Anna  says  I  have  at  least  fifteen  thousand  invitations  already 
unaccepted.  Long  ago  I  should  have  made  the  trip  around  the 
world,  to  which  I  have  been  invited  many  times,  but  for  mother. 
Indeed,  I  tell  her  often  that  she  is  my  only  anchorage.  If  she 
were  gone  I  should  no  more  have  a  home  or  place  of  refuge  on 
the  planet  earth. 

NAMESAKES. 

May  I  say  to  all  my  namesakes,  boys  and  girls,  of  whom 
Anna  Gordon,  who  carefully  keeps  the  records,  says  she  has 
account  of  over  one  hundred,  that  if  I  do  not  send  them  each  a 
silver  cup  it  is  not  because  I  would  not  like  to  do  so,  but  I  am 
sure  the  parents  who  do  me  an  honor  so  high  and  sacred  as  to 
name  their  children  for  me,  would  far  rather  any  money  I  may 
have  should  go  into  the  work  than  to  make  any  other  disposi¬ 
tion  of  it.  My  New  Year  card  will  be  sent  them  regularly 
(unless  Uncle  Sam’s  messengers  should  fail  me),  my  affectionate 
regard  will  follow  them,  and  if  I  can  ever  be  of  service  in 
their  future  lives  they  will  not  call  upon  me  in  vain.  Perhaps, 
indeed,  in  my  old  age  it  may  fall  to  my  lot  to  call  on  some  of 
them,  instead. 

ON  THE  DOEE  QUESTION. 

( From  Babyhood,  October \  18S8.) 

To  the  Guardians  and  Inhabitants  of  Babyland: 

Can  I  come  in?  Or  will  the  dolls  roll  their  eyes,  shake 
their  heads,  and  whack  away  at  me  with  their  wax  hands  ?  I 
had  always  fondly  supposed  myself  a  loyal  friend  of  little  folks, 
but  now  I  am  held  up  as  a  warning,  and  burned  in  effigy,  figu¬ 
ratively  speaking,  with  dolls  to  light  the  fagots. 

Please  let  me  tell  you  how  it  came  about  that  I  was  thus 
grievously  misapprehended.  Having  been  asked  to  write  a  leaf¬ 
let  on  the  assigned  topic,  “Dress  and  Vice,”  I  was  trying  to 
show  how  the  French  doll  may  unduly  foster  that  love  of  finery 
which  is  one  of  woman’s  greatest  temptations.  Against  the 
simple,  modest,  “old-fashioned”  doll  I  did  not  mean  to  say  a 
word,  for  my  dear  old  doll  “  Anna  ”  was  a  favorite  plaything  of 
my  childish  years.  But  I  did  not  guard  my  point  as  carefully  as 


678 


Pets  Better  Than  Dolls. 


I  would  now,  after  the  terrible  hair-pulling  that  has  fallen  to  my 
lot,  or  as  I  will  in  future  editions  of  my  harmless  little  leaflet. 

Let  me,  then,  here  and  now,  declare  my  faith  more  definitely  : 
I  believe  that  boys  and  girls  should  be  trained  very  much  alike 
and  have  the  same  toys.  This  will  give  the  girls  abundant  out¬ 
door  exercise,  fit  them  out  with  that  physical  equipoise  that  we 
call  health,  which  means  wdioleness,  which  means  happiness.  It 
will  also  develop  their  observing  faculties,  now  so  much  less 
brought  out  than  those  of  boys.  Perhaps  the  fact  that  a  doll  is 
so  early  placed  in  the  girl’s  arms  may  help  to  account  for  her 
dulled  curiosity,  her  greater  passivity,  her  inferior  enterprise, 
bravery  and  courage.  Perhaps  the  doll  may  help  to  shut  out  the 
world  of  wonder  and  surprise  in  which  she  was  meant  to  dwell. 
The  ever-present  doll  may  close  her  mind  to  studies  and  obser¬ 
vations  which  would  develop  inventors  among  women.  I  have 
always  believed  the  lack  of  mechanical  inventions  as  the  fruit  of 
woman’s  brain,  was  superinduced  by  a  false  training,  and  that 
possibly  doll-nurture  had  somewhat  to  do  with  it.  Perhaps  be¬ 
cause  my  own  early  years  were  spent  upon  a  farm,  I  have  thought 
that  live  dolls,  that  is,  pets,  were  nobler,  as  they  are  certainly 
far  more  frolicsome  and  responsive  companions  for  children  than 
the  wax  imitations  that  form  the  “regulation  pattern”  toy  of 
girls. 

The  excessive  altruism  of  women  is  one  of  the  greatest 
wrongs  to  men,  and  defrauds  men  of  a  thousand  opportunities 
for  forming  noble  character.  The  doll  may  have  much  to  do  with 
this  much-to-be-regretted  outcome.  I  repudiate  the  notion  that 
any  girl  of  normal  constitution  needs  a  doll  to  develop  or  to  cul¬ 
tivate  a  mother-heart.  God  has  been  before  us  all  in  this,  and 
the  central  motive  power  of  every  woman’s  heart  is  mother-love. 
It  has  a  thousand  ways  to  show  itself,  and  makes  women,  not  a 
few,  take  the  part  of  foster-mother  to  thousands  of  human  beings 
that  are  -worse  than  motherless. 

There  are  cogent  reasons  why  the  fatherly  instinct  is  less 
strong  in  boys  than  is  the  motherly  in  girls,  and  nothing  more 
beneficent  could  happen  to  men  or  to  the  world  than  that  they 
should  have  this  sacred,  home-conserving  instinct  more  strongly 
accentuated  in  heart  and  life.  If  either  is  to  play  chiefly  with 
dolls,  by  all  means  let  it  be  the  boy. 


What  The  Types  Said. 


679 


This  is  my  heresy  in  full,  and  I  do  not  believe  it  to  be 
monstrous  or  in  any  wise  unreasonable.  Let  me,  then,  humbly 
commend  it  to  the  kind,  thoughtful,  and  charitable  attention  of 
all  who  share  the  sacred  cares  and  joys  of  babyland — I  mean 
all  but  the  dolls.  A 

ERRORS. 

Typographical  errors  are  the  despair  of  pen-holders.  Here 
follow  a  few  of  those  from  which  I  have  suffered  : 

I  said  of  Joseph  Cook  that,  of  certain  evils  named,  he  was 
the  ‘  *  uncompromising  foe  ” ;  the  types  re-christened  him  ‘  ‘  un¬ 
compromising  Joe";  of  a  lovely  white  ribbon  friend  who  had 
gone  to  the  Better  Country,  I  wrote,  “  Some  of  us  are  like  comets, 
but  she  was  a  steady  shining  star”  ;  the  types  said,  “Some  of 
us  are  like  camels  ’ ’ /  in  a  mild  quotation  I  wrote,  “  ’Tis  only 
strength  makes  gentleness  sublime  ” ;  the  types  said,  “  ’Tis  only 
strength  makes  gentlemen  divine" ;  again,  this  was  written, 
“The  souls  of  some  sit  on  the  ends  of  their  nerves”  ;  typo  de¬ 
clared  that  the  “souls  of  some  sit  on  the  ends  of  their  fingers" ;  a 
friendly  journalist  in  Boston  declared  of  me  that  I  was  “abe- 
liever  in  Immortality  ” ;  but  typo  echoed,  "immorality" ;  and  so 
on  and  on  and  the  end  is  not  yet.  Be  it  understood  that, 
solid  as  they  are,  the  types  refract  the  light  of  truth  and  often 
make  out  of  an  unoffending  human  creature  a  Specter  of  the 
Brocken. 

A  SPERLING  SCHOOL. 

When  I  was  president  of  the  Chicago  W.  C.  T.  U.  ;  the  mania 
for  spelling-schools  was  at  its  height  and  we  arranged  for  one, 
working  it  up  with  great  care  and  trying  to  enlist  the  chief  men 
and  women  of  the  city,  sixteen  on  a  side,  to  help  us  out  by  spell¬ 
ing  up  or  down,  as  the  case  might  be.  Emory  Storrs,  the  brilliant 
lawyer  and  reformed  man  (for  so  he  was  at  that  time),  consented 
to  act  as  pedagogue,  and  did  his  best  to  enlist  distinguished 
friends.  He  showed  me  several  answers,  or,  rather,  declinations, 
that  piled  in  upon  him.  I  remember,  in  particular,  one  from 
Robert  Collyer,  who  took  an  entire  sheet  of  foolscap  and  wrote  at 
the  top  “  Dear  E.”;  in  the  middle,  “  It  can  not  be,”  and  at  the 
bottom,  “  R.  C.” 

But  we  had  a  fair  showing,  in  spite  of  all.  My  genial  friend, 
the  Rev.  Dr.  W.  H.  Thomas,  agreed  to  be  the  head  one  of  the 


68o 


Our  “  Spelin ’  Skule 


boys’  side,  and  I  took  that  place  on  the  girls’,  and  my  coadju¬ 
tors  and  myself  appeared  with  hair  braided  down  the  back,  and 
wearing  old-fashioned,  high,  white  aprons.  Emory  Storrs  had 
an  unconscionably  tall  collar,  swallow-tail  coat,  and  a  ferule  at 
least  six  feet  long.  He  was  also  fitted  out  with  the  biggest  kind 
of  a  big  dictionary.  Clark  Street  Church  was  packed,  at  twenty- 
five  cents  apiece,  a  ticket  after  the  following  pattern  having  been 
very  generally  sold  beforehand  : 

“Awl  fur  Tempurunce. 

Spelin’  Skule. 

Fust  Methuddis’ 

Korner  Klark  &  Washuntun  Streats. 

8t  Aperile,  Thors  Day.  ’’ 

25  -  -  -  -  -  Sents. 

“Come,  Henry,  stand  straight  and  toe  the  line,’’  were  the 
pedagogue’s  instructions  to  the  tall  and  somewhat  attenuated 
Doctor.  “  Frances,  no  giggling,  attend  strictly  to  business,’’  and 
he  rapped  the  ferule  with  vigor  and  rolled  his  eyes  in  the  most 
threatening  manner.  After  various  other  preliminaries,  he  began, 
“Henry,  spell  abscess,’’  and  Henry  was  left  to  spell  it  without 
the  preliminary  s  of  the  three  that  adorn  its  physiognomy.  For¬ 
tunately  profiting  by  his  mistake,  I  got  in  the  ^  and  brought 
down  the  house,  while  Henry  sank  back  discomfited  at  the  very 
first  attack.  ‘  ‘  Aspergeoire  ’  ’  was  the  word  that  came  to  my  friend, 
Kate  Jackson,  who  sacrificed  herself  to  the  cause  on  this  occa¬ 
sion.  Mr.  Storrs  was  not  an  adept  at  pronouncing  French,  and 
Miss  Jackson,  who  was,  attacked  him  and  at  the  same  time  gave 
him  a  lesson  then  and  there  on  the  correct  method.  An  appeal 
was  taken  to  the  house,  which  voted  that  all  those  who  had  lost 
their  places  through  his  bad  pronounciation  should  be  allowed 
once  more  to  return  to  the  attack.  And  so  the  fun  went  on 
until  a  savage  word  that  I  have  forgotten,  ‘  ‘  downed  ’  ’  us  all 
at  last. 

It  occurs  to  me  that  we  should  do  well  as  temperance  people 
to  utilize  more  than  we  have  yet  done,  the  love  of  amusement  that 
is  in  young  people,  and  put  money  in  the  purse  of  the  reform  by 


FATHER  MATHEW  MEDAL 
SILVER  CUP  (PRIZE) 


PRIZE  MEDAL 


,  X  . 

■■ 

.  n"  ‘ 

■ 

■  r. 

.  ,  ' 


*  i 


Mental  Methods . 


68 1 

bidding  for  the  presence  of  the  amusement-loving  public  in  the 
villages  and  towns  during  the  long  winter  evenings.  Our  new 
department  of  entertainments  will,  I  believe,  do  much'  to  supply 
in  a  perfectly  legitimate  way  the  natural  demands  that  young 
people  make  upon  the  ingenuity  of  their  elders  in  this  regard. 

methods  of  composition. 

Everybody’s  method  of  composing  is  his  own.  For  myself 
there  is  much  to  be  done  on  such  occasions  in  the  way  of  mental 
preliminary,  and  a  great  deal  to  clear  my  mind  of ;  it  is  like  a  pail 
of  water  that  has  just  been  drawn  from  a  spring  and  it  must 
settle.  Or,  to  use  a  more  familiar  figure,  wdiich  I  have  quoted  a 
hundred  times,  I  am  like  a  hen  that  is  about  to  settle  herself  for 
a  three  weeks’  incubation.  She  goes  fluttering  about  with  every 
feather  porcupine-fashion,  scratches  the  ground,  gets  sort  of  cross 
and  blusters  this  way  and  that ;  finally,  with  great  care,  she 
settles  herself,  but  even  then  her  bill  is  at  work,  pulling  a  straw 
here  and  throwing  one  out  of  the  nest  there,  until  she  gets  it  just 
to  her  mind,  and  then  she  begins  to  do  some  execution,  and  she 
keeps  at  it  until  the  end  she  has  in  view  is  reached.  But  you 
must  let  the  hen  have  her  own  way,  or  she  will  never  set  at  all 
and  you  will  never  get  your  chickens. 

I  would  like  exceedingly  to  know  if  other  people  who  write, 
perhaps  not  more,  but  better,  have  similar  experiences.  Indeed,  I 
think  an  interchange  of  the  internal  methods  and  operations  of 
‘  ‘  composing  minds  ’  ’  would  be  a  study  of  great  interest. 

In  preparing  for  the  National  Convention,  I  begin  for  the  next 
year  before  leaving  the  platform  of  this  year.  I  have  memo¬ 
randum-books  and  papers  and  scraps  on  which  are  jotted  notes  of 
any  deficiency  in  the  arrangements,  so  that  they  may  be  avoided 
the  next  time,  and  bright  points  suggested  to  me  by  ingenious 
women,  or  read  about  in  temperance  papers  or  women’s  mis¬ 
sionary  or  suffrage  papers,  for  I  wish  our  convention  to  be 
made  up  of  every  creature’s  best.  All  these  items  are  kept  in  a 
series  of  pigeon-holes,  labeled  with  the  date  of  the  year  to  come, 
and  later  they  are  taken  out,  classified  in  books,  and  acted  upon 
so  far  as  possible. 

The  manner  of  preparing  my  annual  address  is  analogous  to 
that  already  described.  Whenever  any  topic  occurs  to  me,  a 


682 


A  Helping  Hand. 


memorandum  is  made,  and  when  I  am  writing  the  address,  these 
are  taken  up  and  classified  in  the  best  order  that  I  can  contrive, 
though  of  late  years  the  address  has  been  written  in  from  four 
to  seven  days,  and  with  so  many  other  cares  dragging  my 
thoughts  away  on  every  side,  that  I  have  the  misfortune  of  being 
judged  most  widely  by  that  to  which  I  pay  the  least  attention, 
for  the  special  occupation  of  my  mind  is  the  National  W.  C. 
T.  U.  itself,  with  the  World’s  W.  C.  T.  U.  and  the  Woman’s 
National  Council.  Plans  for  the  advancement  of  all  these  are 
with  me  wdien  I  wake.  I  can  not  truthfully  say  when  I  sleep, 
also,  for  I  am,  as  a  rule,  a  dreamless  sleeper,  but  often  in  the 
morning  so  many  thoughts  come  to  me  before  rising  that  I  have 
the  room  peopled  with  mnemonic  figures  lest  I  should  fail  to 
recall  the  good-fairy  plans  that  seem  to  have  been  given  me  in 
my  sleep. 

requests. 

A  sadder  feature,  even,  than  the  loss  of  what  one  might 
imagine  himself  capable  of  achieving  for  humanity  if  unhindered, 
is  the  revelation  of  humanity’s  weakness  and  distress,  of  its  help¬ 
less  outreaching  to  grasp  in  the  darkness  a  human  hand  almost  as 
helpless  as  its  own,  when,  if  it  would  but  take  a  firm  grip  upon 
the  Hand  that  holds  the  world,  it  would  swing  itself  forward  into 
the  tides  of  power. 

If  I  could  epitomize  here  the  letters  asking  for  a  position  as 
private  secretary,  office  secretary,  stenographer,  type-writer, 
housekeeper  at  Rest  Cottage,  care-taker  of  my  dear  mother,  not 
to  mention  the  suggestions  that  new  departments  be  formed  in 
the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.,  the  requests  that  we  enlarge  the  force 
of  the  W.  T.  P.  A. ,  or  send  out  new  organizers  and  speakers  in 
the  World’s  or  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.,  or  the  Woman’s  Na¬ 
tional  Council,  the  list  would  reveal  the  mighty  unrest  of  women’s 
hearts,  and  such  a  striving  earnestly  for  the  best  gifts  as  would 
make  gainsayers  laugh  and  good  hearts  cry. 

Why  any  one  should  think  that  a  temperance  worker  with¬ 
out  fortune  is  a  proper  person  to  apply  to  in  case  of  need,  will 
evermore  remain  to  me  a  mystery.  But  strange  to  tell  I  have, 
among  the  constant  applications  extending  over  fifteen  years,  the 
following  that  I  recall  as  specimens  : 

A  woman  traveled  from  Puget  Sound  to  Kvanston,  telling  me 


“’Tis  True ,  ’Tis  Pity." 


683 


that  she  felt  called  to  take  up  the  work  of  temperance  and  came 
to  offer  herself  to  me.  She  had  no  credentials  that  were  sufficient 
to  identify  her,  no  fitness  for  the  work  that  I  could  see,  and  when 
I  gently  remonstrated  with  her,  she  took  such  an  ‘  ‘  excess  of 
nerves,”  as  the  French  say,  as  was  harrowing  to  behold,  crying 
so  loudly  at  the  boarding-house  in  which  I  placed  her,  and  where 
I  paid  her  expenses  for  some  time,  that  the  people  thought  she 
was  likely  to  do  herself  harm. 

A  merchant  in  good  standing,  and  a  bright  man,  desired  me 
to  prevent  his  wife  from  securing  a  divorce. 

A  young  minister  was  confirmed  in  the  conviction  that  I 
alone,  of  all  people  on  this  continent,  would  direct  him  to  the 
right  woman  as  partner  of  his  joys  and  sorrows. 

A  miner  in  Idaho,  who  confessed  himself  to  have  been  one 
of  the  worst  of  men,  but  was  now  thoroughly  reformed,  and  sent 
references  to  people  altogether  creditable,  wanted  me  to  forward 
to  him  from  our  Chicago  Anchorage  Home  for  degraded  women, 
one  who  had  reformed,  whom  he  promised  to  marry  and  be  faithful 
to,  saying,  with  a  sense  of  justice  too  infrequent,  that  he  was  well 
aware  she  was  the  only  sort  of  person  fit  for  him. 

A  woman  desired  me  to  send  her  a  hired  girl  away  out  to 
Colorado. 

Another  asked  me  to  secure  for  her  a  patent  on  a  new  style 
of  rolling-pin. 

A  man  wished  me  to  arrange  for  the  manufacture  of  his  new 
carpet-sweeper,  and  would  give  me  half  the  proceeds. 

A  woman  said  if  I  would  get  her  husband  the  appointment 
to  be  postmaster  in  tfyeir  village,  she  would  pay  me  twenty-five 
dollars. 

A  woman  whose  daughter  had  evinced  elocutionary  talent, 
said  if  I  would  write  her  a  speech,  she  could  quite  likely  support 
the  family  by  rehearsing  it  in  California. 

A  young  man  wished  me  to  write  his  part  in  a  debate,  that 
was  to  occur  in  a  certain  college,  on  the  Prohibition  question. 

Another  wrote:  “You  wod  doe  us  a  grate  favor  if  you 
Cculd  Send  us  a  mishineary  to  this  Place.” 

One  who  “was  born  a  prohibitionist,”  after  detailing  her 
husband’s  financial  losses,  asked  if  “  I  would  be  so  kind  as  to 


684 


“ Pity  ’  Tis,  ’  Tis  True  .” 


present  her  with  a  dolman  or  some  other  wrap,  and  a  dress  that 
would  be  nice  enough  to  go  into  company  of  any  kind.” 

Another  good  friend — a  perfect  stranger — who  was  in  debt, 
inclosed  two  bills  in  the  letter,  and  asked  me  to  pray  over  them, 
and  then  pay  them. 

Another  was  sure  I  would  gladly  aid  in  the  circulation  of  a 
book  she  had  written  concerning  myself. 

The  following  is  from  a  poem  dedicated  to  the  W.  C.  T.  U., 
and  placed  in  my  hands  at  one  of  our  National  Conventions  : 

To  you  Who  Comes  With  Hearts  So  Brave 
Mounted  the  Stage  like  tidel  waves 
Like  a  Statue  to  Behold 
White  as  marbel  Pure  as  Gold 

With  Words  of  truth  From  throbing  Heart 
Your  Misels  like  a  piercing  dart 
Turned  the  key  of  Pandors  Box 
And  threw  the  Rubish  ore  your  Flock 

Revealed  to  light  the  dark  conclave 
And  Sent  them  out  like  tidal  waves 
Of  Polyticks  and  Royal  Kings 
O  My  What  Joy  to  Hearts  it  Brings 

t 

But  not  with  you  By  Power  of  might 
But  your  the  Sword  of  truth  and  Right 
you  Shield  is  Faith  Sword  is  prair 
On  this  platform  you  need  not  feare 

For  He  Who  claved  the  Red  Sea 
Will  Stand  For  you  and  liberty 
Will  carry  you  ore  to  cannens  land 
And  then  will  Shout  a  Happy  Band 


A  helpful  BOOK. 

No  single  book  has  helped  me  more  in  these  last  j'-ears  man 
the  little  French  treatise  translated  by  Hannah  Whitall  Smith, 
entitled,  “  Practice  of  the  Presence  of  God.”  Brother  Lawrence, 
a  Franciscan  friar,  who  did  the  cooking  for  his  monastery,  is  the 
hero  of  the  narrative  and  I  do  not  believe  it  possible  for  any  well- 
intentioned  person  to  read  the  contents  of  this  little  volume  once 
a  month  throughout  a  single  year  without  being  lifted  above  the 


Old  Rye  }s  Speech. 


685 


mists  and  vapors  of  his  every-day  environment  into  the  sweet, 
clear  air  of  that  spiritual  world  which  is  always  with  us  if  wTe 
only  knew  it,  and  in  which  we  may  perpetually  dwell  if  we  only 
try,  or  rather,  if  without  trying  we  just  accept  its  presence  and  its 
hallowed  communion. 

*** 


In  all  the  harvest  there  was  nothing  sweeter  to  us  than 
the  sense  of  independence  and  security  that  came  from  feel¬ 
ing  that  the  old  farm  could  supply  our  wants  ;  could  garner  up  for 
us  and  all  the  hundreds  of  four-footed  and  two-winged  creatures 
that  were  our  fellow-beings  and  our  friends,  enough  to  keep  us 
safe  and  sound  in  all  the  winter’s  cold.  /We  liked  to  watch  our 
mother’s  wonderful  butter,  that  smelt  M/ clover  blooms.  We 
rejoiced  in  her  pickles  and  preserves,  heMvild  plums,  and1  “rare 
ripe  ”  peaches,  and  it  seemed  to  us  thatppeople  who  buy  every¬ 
thing  at  the  store,  live  at  a  poor  dying  r^te,  ap  take' everything 
second-hand — finding  life  a  sort  orhash  jo f  thjijp  left  over. 

Happy  this  harvest  home  of  tl|e  hone^ftianded  farmer,  who 
knows  and  loves  the  good  creaturesypf  God  too  well  to  turn  into 
crazy, drinks  what  a  bounMul  Creator  has  givejvdiim  .fbr  food. 
As  “  Old  Rye  ^ 


Make  me  umin 
Make  me  uppt 
So  mind  what  I 
If  eaten,  to  ftre 


children  are  fed  ; 
them  instead  ; 
strength  I’ll  employ, 
drunk,  to  destroy.” 


6  86 


Conversation . 


INTROSPECTIVE. 

What  mind  I  have  is  intuitional.  The  processes  of  calcula¬ 
tion  are  altogether  foreign  to  me,  and  old  school-mates  will  tes¬ 
tify  without  dissent  that  while  I  stood  at  the  head  of  my  classes 
in  all  other  things,  I  hobbled  along  with  a  crutch  in  “higher 
algebra.”  It  consoled  me  not  a  little  to  read  in  some  of  General 
Grant’s  biographies,  that  when  officers  galloped  up  to  him  in 
battle  bringing  bad  news  and  asking  his  commands,  he  never 
commented  on  the  disaster,  consulted  nobody,  but  as  swiftly  as 
the  words  could  be  uttered,  told  just  what  he  wanted  done. 
This  trait  that  he  showed  as  a  great  chieftain  I  have  had  always 
on  my  own  small  field,  that  is,  I  have  never  been  discouraged, 
but  ready  on  the  instant  with  my  decision,  and  rejoicing  in  noth¬ 
ing  so  much  as  the  taking  of  initiatives.  Such  facilities  as  I 
have  are  always  on  hand.  What  I  do  must  be  done  quickly. 
Perhaps  it  is  the  possession  of  this  very  quality  that  by  the  law 
of  opposites  renders  a  reflective  life,  the  otiam  cum  dignitate  of 
which  I  have  never  for  one  moment  tasted  since  we  left  the  farm, 
supremely  attractive  to  me  in  contemplation. 

To  my  thought,  conversation  is  the  filling  and  soul  of  social 
life,  the  culmination  of  the  spirit’s  possible  power,  the  giving  of 
a  life-time  in  an  hour,  though  its  form  and  method  certainly  have 
changed  in  this  electric  age  when  the  phonograph  has  come  into 
being.  I  half  suspect  that  there  will  be  a  strike  in  the  physical 
manufactory  one  of  these  days  ;  the  muscles  of  the  face  will  refuse 
to  do  ffieir  duty,  the  tongue  will  make  believe  paralytic,  and  the 
lips  will  join  the  rebellion.  But  there  is  this  good  fortune  about 
it,  people  will  be  more  careful  how  they  talk  when  the  electric 
waves  are  secret  as  well  as  open  message-bearers,  when  the  con¬ 
cealed  phonograph  may  be  acting  as  reporter  in  any  place 
they  enter.  Science  will  make  us  all  behave  and  put  us  under 
bonds  to  keep  the  peace.  Its  outcome  always  is  the  betterment 
of  mortals. 

My  nature  is  to  the  last  degree  impressionable,  without 


En  Rapport. 


687 


strong  personal  antipathies,  and  though  ready  with  some  remark 
for  any  one  into  whose  company  I  happen  to  be  thrown,  nothing 
short  of  a  congenial  atmosphere  can  ‘  ‘  bring  me  out.  ’  ’  A  human 
being,  like  a  cathedral  organ,  has  many  pipes  and  stops  and  banks 
of  keys  ;  the  sort  of  music  that  you  get  depends  upon  the  kind 
of  player  that  you  are.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  never  wrote  a 
subtler  thing  than  that  he  likes  people  not  so  much  for  what  they 
say,  as  for  what  they  make  him  say  !  Judged  by  this  standard,  I 
do  not  believe  that  six  persons  have  ever  heard  me  talk,  and  not 
more  than  three  ever  in  private  converse  heard  my  vox  humana , 
simply  because  they  were  not  skilled  musicians.  There  is  no 
egotism  in  this  statement,  it  is  so  universal.  All  of  us  have  been 
so  happy  as  to  meet  a  few  persons  who  made  us  blossom  out.  We 
did  n’t  dream  ourselves  half  so  great,  so  noble,  so  lovable  as  they 
proved  us  to  ourselves  to  be.  “Is  it  possible  I  can  talk  like 
that?”  I  have  said  to  myself  in  such  companionship.  The  in¬ 
toxication  of  it  is  the  soul’s  true  wine.  There  are  a  few  fortunate 
and  elect  spirits  who  have  expanded  under  such  sunny  skies  into 
flowers  whose  fragrance  was  the  rarest  fame, — perhaps  all  might ; 
in  some  world  let  us  hope  all  will  !  For  myself,  I  know  so  little 
of  it,  that  only  as  a  foretaste  of  heaven’s  companionships  do  I 
think  of  such  beatitude  at  all. 

I  shall  never  forget  how  like  a  flash  it  came  to  me  one 
winter  day,  when  I  was  preceptress  of  Genesee  Wesleyan  Semi¬ 
nary  at  Tima,  N.  Y.,  in  1866,  as  I  was  seated  in  my  large, 
pleasant  sitting-room,  with  as  many  of  my  pupils  gathered  around 
me,  chiefly  sitting  on  the  floor,  as  the  room  could  possibly  accom¬ 
modate,  and  while  we  were  planning  something  good,  I  do  not 
recall  what,  in  which  we  were  all  greatly  interested,  that  just 
what  was  happening  then  in  the  way  of  aroused  enthusiasm, 
unified  purpose,  and  magnificent  esprit  de  corps  might  just  as 
well  happen  on  a  scale  involving  thousands  instead  of  scores. 

I  did  not  then  determine  that  it  should,  but  only  with  swift 
intuition  and  sudden  pain  felt  that  I  might  have  filled  a  larger 
place.  I  have  been  called  ambitious,  and  so  I  am,  if  to  have  had 
from  childhood  the  sense  of  being  born  to  a  fate  is  an  element  of 
ambition.  For  I  never  knew  what  it  was  not  to  aspire,  and  not  to 
believe  myself  capable  of  heroism.  I  always  wanted  to  react  upon 
the  world  about  me  to  my  utmost  ounce  of  power  ;  to  be  widely 


6  88 


Plus  Ultra. 


known,  loved  and  believed  in — the  more  widely  the  better. 
Every  life  has  its  master  passion  ;  this  has  been  mine.  Very 
few  things  waken  my  contempt,  but  this  couplet  in  the  hymn 
book  did: 

“  Make  me  little  and  unknown, 

Loved  and  prized  by  God  alone.  ” 

Its  supreme  absurdity  angered  rather  than  amused  me,  for 
who  could  be  ‘  ‘  loved  and  prized  ’  ’  by  the  Great  Spirit  and 
yet  despised  by  the  lesser  spirits  made  in  His  image?  Who 
could  deliberately  desire  to  be  “  little  and  unknown” — of  small 
value  and  narrow  circle  in  a  world  so  hungry  for  help  and 
strength  and  uplift — yet  be  “loved  and  prized”  by  God?  No,  I 
wanted  to  be  now  and  in  all  worlds,  my  very  utmost.  I  fully 
purposed  to  be  one  whom  multitudes  would  love,  lean  on,  and 
bless.  Eying  on  the  prairie  grass  and  lifting  my  hands  toward 
the  sweet  sky  I  used  to  say  in  my  inmost  spirit,  ‘  ‘  What  is  it — 
what  is  it  that  I  am  to  be,  O  God  ?  ”  I  did  not  wish  to  climb  by 
others’  overthrow  and  I  laid  no  schemes  to  undermine  them,  but 
I  meant  that  the  evolution  of  my  own  powers  should  do  for  me  all 
that  it  would.  But  a  woman,  and  most  of  all  a  woman  shy  and 
sensitive,  could  not  determine  on  a  “  career  ’  ’  except  as  a  writer 
of  books,  when  I  was  young,  and  I  was  too  impatient  of  the 
utter  dependence  that  results  from  having  no  money  of  one’s  own, 
to  take  that  doubtful  path,  though  it  had  supreme  attractions  for 
me  in  my  loftiest  hours.  During  the  war  I  begged  my  dear 
father  to  let  me  offer  my  services  to  the  Sanitary  Commission,  but 
he  scouted  the  idea  for  “a  girl  just  out  of  school.”  I  then 
pleaded  with  him  to  let  me  go  and  teach  the  freedmen,  but  he 
was  more  careful  of  his  daughters  than  any  other  father  I  ever 
■knew,  and  .shook  his  head  saying,  “  Stay  at  home — that  is  your 
natural  and  proper  place  until  you  have  a  home  of  your  own  ;  I 
am  able  to  take  care  of  you.  ” 

My  mother  would  have  let  me  do  any  good  thing  that  I  liked  ; 
it  was  her  method  always  to  encourage  our  self-activity  along  the 
line  of  strongest  impulse,  only  that  impulse  must  be  beneficent. 
But  she,  too,  liked  us  to  be  at  home  and  would  not  antagonize 
“the  head  of  the  family  ”  in  this  respect. 

If  to  have  some  innate  sense  of  a  confidential  relationship 


“  A  Cloud  of  Witnesses. 


689 


with  humanity  at  large,  so  that  it  was  always  pleasant  to  he 
known  and  recognized,  is  to  be  ambitious,  then  I  plead  guilty,  for 
I  never  liked  to  be  impersonal,  and  chose  a  ?iom  de  plume  for  a 
few  earlier  journalistic  ventures  only;  then  not  because  I  did  n’t 
like  the  dear  public,  but  because  I 'did  n’t  like  my  own  dear 
family  to  know  what  I  was  doing.  Somehow  I  always  felt  that 
“  faith  in  folks  ”  of  which  I  speak  so  often,  and  wanted  them  to 
know  about  me  as  I  about  them.  I  believed  we  were  all  made  of 
one  blood  and  there  was  no  need  of  this  ado  about  ‘  ‘  impersonal¬ 
ity.”  To  my  notion,  personality  was  the  grandest  production  of 
the  ages  ;  it  came  into  fuller  perspective  by  reaction  on  the  world 
of  matter  and  of  spirit  according  to  one’s  power ;  let  it  carry  us 
as  far  as  we  would.  Besides,  I  felt  that  a  woman  owed  it  to  all 
other  women  to  live  as  bravely,  as  helpfully,  and  as  grandly  as 
she  could,  and  to  let  the  world  know  it,  for  so  many  other  women 
would  thus  gain  a  vantage-ground,  and  I  used  to  sing  with  this 
thought,  sometimes,  the  hymn  beginning  : 

“  A  cloud  of  witnesses  around 
Hold  thee  in  full  survey, 

Forget  the  steps  already  trod 
And  onward  urge  thy  way.” 

I  once  heard  the  Jubilee  singers  render  an  old  plantation 
melody  with  this  refrain  : 

“  May  the  Lord  He  will  be  glad  of  me, 

May  the  Lord  He  will  be  glad  of  me, 

May  the  Lord  He  will  be  glad  of  me, 

In  the  heaven  He’ll  rejoice.” 

The  words  and  music  touched  a  chord  very  far  down  in  my 
heart  and  I  have  hummed  the  strange  old  snatch  of  pathos  to  my¬ 
self  times  without  number  at  twilight  on  the  cars,  after  a  hard 
day’s  work  with  book  and  pen. 

If  it  be  ambitious  to  have  no  fear  of  failure  in  any  under¬ 
taking,  to  that  I  must  plead  guilty.  Fools  rush  in  where  angels 
fear  to  tread,  and  this  may  help  explain  it,  but  I  frankly  own  that 
no  position  I  have  ever  attained  gave  me  a  single  perturbed  or 
wakeful  thought,  nor  could  any  that  I  would  accept.  No  one 
could  induce  me  to  become  a  professor  of  mathematics  or  of 
domestic  economy,  but  outside  these  and  what  they  imply,  I  can 
think  of  no  helpful  calling  that  I  would  not  undertake,  and  there 
44 


690 


Edward  Eggleston' s  Good  Word. 


is  none  that  would  render  me  anxious.  But  with  all  this  hardi¬ 
hood  I  have  not  sought  advancement.  So  far  as  I  can  recall,  ex¬ 
cept  when  at  twenty  years  old  I  secretly  applied  for  a  district  school, 
and  two  years  later  for  the  public  school  in  my  own  village,  the 
positions  that  I  have  held  have  all  sought  me,  and  as  for  writing 
such  poor  books  as  I  do,  it  is  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet  they  have 
been  ground  out — all  save  Mary’s  “  Nineteen  Beautiful  Years.” 
If  I  had  been  a  man  the  pulpit  and  politics  would  have  been  my 
field  in  case  I  was  early  driven  from  the  Eden  of  literature  by  the 
desire  for  financial  independence.  But  a  woman  who  did  n’t  pur¬ 
pose  ‘  ‘  to  make  a  spectacle  of  herself  ’  ’  had  to  walk  softly  in  the 
years  when  I  suddenly  emerged  from  nature’s  boundless  hospi¬ 
tality,  into  custom’s  pinched  arena,  away  back  in  ’57. 

Not  to  be  jealous  of  others  who  come  at  rattling  pace  along 
the  track,  speeding  onward  neck  and  neck,  or  else  distancing 
one’s  self  altogether,  is  a  difficult  grace.  I  do  not  profess  to  have 
attained  it,  but  am  grateful  that  its  outward  expression  has  not 
yet  aroused  my  self-contempt,  and  I  will  own  that,  so  far  as  I 
recall,  I  have  never  seen  myself  outdone  without  making  myself 
secretly  say  to  God,  “  I  thank  thee  for  this  other  one’s  beautiful 
gifts  ;  may  they  growr  and  abundantly  flourish  and  (if  it  were  a 
speaker  who  left  me  behind,  and  especially  a  woman  speaker)  I 
have  also  prayed,  “  May  she  have  more  power  this  time  than  she 
has  ever  had  before.” 

Still,  with  it  all,  I  have  odious  little  “  inwardnesses”  of  dis¬ 
comfort  wrhen  distanced,  as  one  must  be  so  often,  and  my  only 
consolation  at  such  times,  is  that  I  loathe  these  selfish  symptoms 
and  have  in  their  presence  the  instinct  of  prayer. 

People  little  know  the  good  or  harm  they  do  us  by  a  word. 

Edward  Eggleston  once  lived  in  Evanston,  was  superin¬ 
tendent  of  our  Sunday-school  and  a  brother  to  us  all.  After  he 
became  famous  he  once  said  tome,  “  I  do  not  believe  there  is 
another  young  woman  in  America  of  your  ability,  who  is  content 
to  move  about  in  the  small  circle  of  a  girl’s  school.”  And  wffien 
I  visited  his  family  in  Adelphi  Street,  Brooklyn,  he  said,  when  I 
apologized  for  some  remark,  “  My  child,  don’t  make  your  man¬ 
ners  to  me — you’re  never  impolite;  in  fact,  you  could  n' t  do  a  rude 
thing."  The  happy  tears  sprang  from  their  out-of-sight  fount¬ 
ains  ;  I  ordered  them  back  and  he  never  saw  them.  Great, 


Noble  Friends. 


691 


generous  soul,  but  what  words  may  measure  the  encouragement 
to  me  to  have  made  such  an  impression  upon  one  like  him  !  So 
when  I  saw  Whittier  and  he  said,  “  I  am  glad  of  thy  work  ;  thee 
is  becoming  a  quite  conspicuous  figure  yonder  on  thy  prairies,” 

I  was  more  than  ever  determined  that  I  would  be  one.  The 
letters  of  Bishop  Simpson,  Frances  Power  Cobbe,  Elizabeth  Stuart 
Phelps,  Gilbert  Haven,  and  a  score  besides  of  the  best  men  and 
women  of  our  time,  how  can  I  do  them  justice  for  the  spur  that 
they  have  been  to  my  ambition  ?  The  dictionary  tells  us  that  this 
word  comes  from  the  Latin  “  ambitio,"  a  going  around , — especi¬ 
ally  of  candidates  for  office  in  Rome,  to  solicit  votes.  As  my 
self-respect  has  always  protected  me  from  this,  I  conclude  that 
what  I  have  is  aspiration  ;  i.  e. ,  “  ardent  desire  ”  for  the  achieve¬ 
ments  herein  confessed  as  having  been  ‘  ‘  the  top  of  life  ’  ’  to  me. 

A  friend,  greatly  revered,  said  to  me  in  my  youth:  “Do 
things  because  they  are  in  themselves  pure,  lovely  and  harmo¬ 
nious,  without  regard  to  whether  anybody  knows  that  you  do 
them  or  not.” 

But  every  nature  has  its  limitation,  and  mine  was  here  pre¬ 
cisely  :  I  wanted  some  one  else  to  know  ! 

“  How  sweet,  how  passing  sweet  is  solitude  ; 

Yet  grant  me  still  a  friend  in  my  retreat 
Whom  I  may  whisper,  ‘  Solitude  is  sweet !  ’  ” 

Whether  for  weal  or  woe,  I  had  to  care  about  that  other  one, 
about  his  knowing ,  too,  and  take  the  consequences.  That  same 
friend  .said  to  me  in  my  youth,  “  Be  true  to  your  ideals,  hold  fast 
to  them,  what  e’er  betide.”  And  so  I  have:  but  to  be  widely  , 
known,  widely  helpful  and  beloved,  was  my  ideal.  That  same 
friend  said,  “You  are  nothing  if  not  frank,”  and  used  the  words, 

I  thought,  reproachfully,  But  I  was  “  Frank,  how  could  I  help 
it?  and,  having  the  faults  of  my  qualities,  have  had  to  pay  their 
penalty.  A  sweet  white  ribbon  woman  once  said  to  me  as  simply 
as  a  child  :  “I  would  like  a  window  in  my  heart  that  all  might 
see  my  love  for  them  ;  there  is  nothing  that  I  wish  to  hide.” 

Often  have  I  wished  I  could  afford  to  be  equally  transparent — 
perhaps  in  heaven  I  shall  be  so.  But  this  consoles  me  :  if  all 
could  see  the  keen  regrets,  the  self-contempt,  the  wistful  purpose, 
the  ever  new  outreaching  toward  a  higher  life  ;  if  all  could  know 


692 


The  Pain  of  an  Injustice , 


the  instant  pra}^er,  “God  pity,  God  forgive!”  such  sight  and 
knowledge  would  go  far  to  prove  the  selfishness  a  distemper,  cer¬ 
tain  to  be  healed  some  day.  Long,  long  ago,  a  friend  gave  me  a 
pretty  journal  with  morocco  cover,  and  wrote  on  the  first  page 
these  words  : 

‘  ‘  Dear  F. :  Record  here  your  inner  life  as  freely  as  you  think 
it,  as  carefully  as  you  speak  it,  as  genially  as  you  live  it  and  as 
bravely  as  you  meet  it  day  by  day.  ’  ’ 

I  have  tried  to  do  so  in  this  chapter,  chiefly  written  at  my 
own  expense. 

By  nature  I  am  progressive  in  my  thought.  As  Paul  said  of 
himself,  “  I  was  free  born.  ”  For  a  great  sum  do  they  purchase 
this  freedom  who  have  it  not  by  heritage.  A  life  of  patient  study 
and  research,  with  steadfast  effort  to  hold  the  soul  open  to 
‘  ‘  skyey  influence  '  ’  will  hardly  send  one  along  the  adventurous 
path  of  progress  if  he  was  not  born  with  a  soul  hospitable  toward 
new  ideas.  Being  a  woman,  I  have  grown,  inside  the  shell  of  such 
environment,  all  that  one  of  my  sensitive  nature  could,  toward 
God’s  plan  for  our  souls — so  different  from  that  of  man.  Under  the 
mould  of  conservative  action  I  have  been  most  radical  in  thought. 
Christianity  has  held  me  as  the  firm  bridle  steadies  the  champing 
steed.  Early  embracing  my  father’s  and  mother’s  faith,  it  has 
mellowed  my  nature  and  made  me  “  true  to  the  kindred  points  of 
heaven  and  home.  ”  But  I  do  not  recall  the  time  when  my 
inmost  spirit  did  not  perceive  the  injustice  done  to  woman  ;  did 
not  revolt  against  the  purely  artificial  limitations  which  hedge 
her  from  free  and  full  participation  in  every  avocation  and  pro¬ 
fession  to  which  her  gifts  incline  her,  and  when  I  did  not  appre¬ 
ciate  to  some  extent  the  state’s  irreparable  loss  in  losing  from  halls 
of  legislation  and  courts  of  justice  the  woman’s  judgment  and  the 
mother’s  heart.  The  first  sharp  and  painful  consciousness  of 
humiliation  that  came  to  me  was  from  the  English-bred  boy  who, 
when  I  was  a  girl  of  four  or  five  years,  called  me  a  “Tom-boy  ” 
and  dared  me  to  play  with  my  brother — the  two  being  together  in 
our  door-yard.  Angered  by  his  interference,  and  encouraged  by 
my  brother’s  more  tolerant  spirit,  I  declared  I  would  play  and  no¬ 
body  should  hinder  me,  whereupon  the  English  boy  held  up  his 
broad-bladed  pocket-knife,  in  .striking  at  which  I  received  a 
wound,  the  scar  of  which  is  with  me  to  this  day.  My  cries 


“  Unto  this  Last .” 


693 


brought  mother  to  the  rescue,  who  chased  the  foreign  invader 
from  our  soil  and,  instead  of  telling  me  that  little  girls  must 
“stay  in  the  house,  ”  declared  that  I  should  play  just  where  and 
when  I  liked  and  no  bad  boy  should  interfere  with  me.  The 
next  hard  lesson — and  well-nigh  unendurable — was  when  I  was 
required  to  wear  my  hair  long  and  wadded  on  my  cerebellum, 
instead  of  short,  evenly  distributed,  and  leaving  every  motion  of 
the  head  easy  and  free.  But  my  cup  was  more  than  full,  and 
brimmed  over1  in  bitterest  tears  when  the  light,  unimpeded  gait 
and  easy  spring  over  fences  and  up  into  trees  was  forever  debarred 
by  the  entanglements  of  numberless  white  skirts  and  a  long  dress. 
At  this  I  felt  a  sense  of  personal  rights  invaded,  and  freedom 
outraged,  such  as  no  language  may  express,  and  a  contempt  for 
‘  ‘  society  ’  ’  and  its  false  standards  from  which  I  have  never 
recovered.  But  I  quietly  accepted  the  inevitable  ;  “conformed  ” 
down  to  the  smallest  particular  in  wardrobe,  conduct  and  general 
surroundings,  confident  that  I  could  thus  more  completely  work 
out  my  destiny  in  the  midst  of  a  crooked  and  perverse  generation, 
having  always  for  my  motto,  “To  reform  one  must  first  one’s  self 
con  form.  ’  ’ 

Dedicating  my  life  to  the  uplift  of  humanity,  I  entered 
the  lists  at  the  first  open  place  I  found  and  have  fought  on  as 
best  I  could,  not  blaming  any  one  as  having  of  set  purpose  caused 
the  conditions,  which  I  so  entirely  reprobate,  in  the  customs  that 
immeasurably  hamper  and  handicap  the  development  of  women, 
but  thoroughly  convinced  that  these  conditions  are  the  necessary 
outcome  of  the  Age  of  Force,  so  long  in  its  duration,  but  certain 
to  be  slowly  followed  by  the  age  of  spiritual  power  when  the 
gentler  sex  shall  take  its  rightful  place  in  humanity’s  great 
family. 

Holding  these  opinions  I  have  the  purpose  to  help  forward 
progressive  movements  even  in  my  latest  hours,  and  hence  here¬ 
by  decree  that  the  earthly  mantle  which  I  shall  drop  erelong, 
when  my  real  self  passes  onward  into  the  world  unseen,  shall  be 
swiftly  enfolded  in  flames  and  rendered  powerless  harmfully  to 
affect  the  health  of  the  living.  Let  no  friend  of  mine  say  aught 
to  prevent  the  cremation  of  my  cast-off  body.  The  fact  that  the 
popular  mind  has  not  come  to  this  decision  renders  it  all  the 
mor«  my  duty,  who  have  seen  the  light,  to  stand  for  it  in  death 


694 


“  Unto  this  Last .  ” 

as  I  have  sincerely  meant  in  life,  to  stand  by  the  great  cause  of 
poor,  oppressed  humanity.  There  must  be  explorers  along  all 
pathways  ;  scouts  in  all  armies.  This  has  been  my  “call  ”  from 
the  beginning,  by  nature  and  by  nurture  ;  let  me  be  true  to  its 
inspiriting  and  cheery  mandate  even  “  unto  this  last.  ” 


Youth' s  Delectable  Mountains . 


695 


FINALLY. 

The  foregoing  book  has  been  written,  revised  and  the  proofs 
corrected,  in  about  three  months,  largely  in  enforced  seclusion, 
away  from  books  of  reference  and  to  a  great  degree  from  memory. 
It  does  not  then  claim  to  be  absolutely  accurate,  and  it  is  quite 
likely  that  in  respect  to  some  minor  dates  there  may  be  a  dis¬ 
crepancy  between  the  book  and  the  series  of  journals  beginning 
when  I  was  about  twelve  years  old  and  ending  when  I  returned 
from  Europe  in  1870. 

“  Seen  through  memory’s  sunset  air,” 

the  far  away  Delectable  Mountains  of  my  youth  may  have  a  halo 
around  them  greater  even  than  when  with  eager  feet  I  climbed 
their  summits.  My  mother  says  that  I  have  idealized  her  char¬ 
acter,  and  friends  have  always  accused  me  of  seeing  them  in 
colors  more  glowing  than  the  cold  light  of  day  revealed. 

All  that  I  claim  is  that  in  this  book,  from  cover  to  cover,  I 
believe  I  have  been  loyal  to  the  higher  law  of  truth,  if  not  to  the 
common  law  of  fact,  and  my  purpose,  from  first  to  last,  has  been 
to  tell  the  story  as  it  was  told  to  me  by  the  higher  faculties  of 
my  nature.  I  have  had  the  happiness  of  illustrating  in  a  small 
way  the  result  of  American  institutions  upon  individual  and 
family  life,  in  the  hope  that  good  might  come  of  it  to  some  who 
are  now  in  the  formative  period  of  their  career;  and  with  the 
purpose  to  applaud  whatsoever  things  are  true  and  lovely  and  of 
good  report,  frankly  bemoaning  those  things  that  are  not,  in 
myself  especially. 

Nothing  in  this  book  is  meant  to  give  the  impression  that 
its  author  undervalues  the  household  arts  or  household  saints. 


6g6 


My  Household  Creed. 


If  anybody  living  is  beholden  to  them,  I  surely  am.  A  well- 
ordered  home  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom  and  of  virtue  and,  I 
have  always  dwelt  in  such  a  home,  made  wholesome  and  delight¬ 
ful  by  other  hands  than  mine.  Most  girls  take  kindly  to  the 
spelling-book  of  home’s  beautiful  literature  of  action  as  exempli¬ 
fied  in  the  needle,  broom  and  kneading-trough,  but  I  had  not 
this  happy  gift,  never  having  got  beyond  the  A  B  C  of  sampler, 
dust-brush  and  cake-making  in  my  home  education.  Lack  of 
natural  facility  should  have  condoned  the  offense  whose  inexor¬ 
able  penalties  I  have  been,  under  the  present  regime,  obliged  to 
pay  as  the  years  brought  in  their  bills.  All  that  I  plead  for  is 
freedom  for  girls,  as  well  as  boys,  in  the  exercise  of  their  special 
gifts  and  preferences  of  brain  and  hand.  It  is  also  my  belief  that 
the  law  of  development  will  at  no  distant  day,  so  largely  relegate 
the  household  arts  to  the  realm  of  invention  and  cooperation  that 
unless  this  larger  liberty  of  woman  is  fully  recognized  she  will, 
during  the  transition  period,  at  least,  prove  less  useful  to  society 
than  she  was  meant  to  be  and  must  be  for  her  own  highest 
happiness. 

This  is  the  sum  total  of  my  creed  concerning  household 
economics,  and  if  it  be  treason  I  mean  to  make  the  most  of  it,  for 
I  expect  to  see  the  day  when  hot  water  and  steam-heated  air  will 
be  supplied  to  every  house  as  gas  is  now  from  common  reser¬ 
voirs  ;  when  we  shall  have  a  public  laundry  system,  so  complete 
as  to  drive  the  washtub  out  of  every  kitchen,  banishing  forever 
the  reign  of  steamy,  sudsy,  indigo-blue  Monday  ;  and  a  caterer’s 
system  so  complete  as  to  send  the  cooking-stove  into  perpetual 
exile.  If  men  had  these  problems  on  hand,  complicated  with 
the  unspeakable  servant-girl  problem,  they  would  have  solved 
them  by  a  syndicate  long  before  this,  putting  no  end  of  money 
in  their  purses  and  no  en  1  of  misery  outside  of  home’s  four  walls. 

I  often  think,  when  rejoicing  in  the  homelike  amenities  of 
a  vestibule  train,  with  its  day  coach,  dining-car,  and  sleeper, 
that  if  George  M.  Pullman  could  be  induced  by  a  council  of 
women  to  give  five  years  of  his  wonderful  brain  to  this  problem 
of  household  comfort  off  the  rails,  counseling  with  the  house¬ 
keepers,  as  he  would  be  wise  enough  to  do,  he  might  crown  his 
life  by  carrying  into  the  average  home  the  same  wholesale  com¬ 
forts  and  elegancies  with  which  he  now  regales  the  traveling 


“  A  Great  New  World  Looms  into  Sight."  697 

public.  Only  in  that  case  we  must  petition  him  to  spare  us  the 
diffusive  atmosphere  of  that  horrible  smokers’  annex ! 

To  preserve  the  individuality,  the  privacy,  and  sanctity  of 
home,  while  diminishing  its  cost  and  friction,  is  the  problem  that 
women  in  council  must  set  themselves  to  solve.  Notable  home¬ 
makers,  ready  for  the  next  thing,  and  not  afraid  of  it  because  it 
is  the  next  and  not  the  last,  should  be  organized  into  a  standing 
committee  on  this  subject. 

But  with  these  varied  cares  and  perpetual  annoyances  re¬ 
moved,  how  will  the  home-maker  of  the  well-to-do  classes  employ 
her  time  ?  In  the  care  of  her  children,  the  companionship  of  her 
husband,  and  in  works  of  philanthropy,  bj^  which  will  be  has¬ 
tened  forward  the  coming  epoch  when  there  shall  be  no  classes 
that  are  not  well-to-do. 

There  will  always  remain  abundant  territory  to  be  possessed 
in  home’s  illimitable  realm.  Women  in  council  working  to  im¬ 
prove  that  sanctuary  of  their  hearts  will  find  grievous  inequalities 
in  the  laws  that  relate  to  the  control  of  children  and  of  property 
as  between  husband  and  wife  ;  they  will  find  that  in  most  of  the 
states  a  wife  can  not  bring  a  civil  suit  for  damages  against  her 
husband  ;  that  as  a  rule,  the  crime  of  despoiling  a  woman  of  her 
honor  is  not  punished  so  heavily  as  the  crime  of  stealing  a  cow  ; 
that  in  general,  the  protection  of  the  person  ranks  far  behind 
protection  of  the  purse. 

A  great  new  world  looms  into  sight,  like  some  splendid  ship 
long-waited-for — the  world  of  heredity,  of  prenatal  influence,  of 
infantile  environment  ;  the  greatest  right  of  which  we  can  con¬ 
ceive,  the  right  of  the  child  to  be  well  born,  is  being  slowly, 
surely  recognized.  Poor,  old  Humanity,  so  tugged  by  fortune 
and  weary  with  disaster,  turns  to  the  Cradle  at  last  and  perceives 
that  it  has  been  the  Pandora’s  box  of  every  ill  and  the  Fortunatus 
casket  of  every  joy  that  life  has  known.  When  the  mother  learns 
the  divine  secrets  of  her  power,  when  she  selects  in  the  partner 
of  her  life  the  father  of  her  child,  and  for  its  sacred  sake  rejects 
the  man  of  unclean  lips  because  of  the  alcohol  and  the  tobacco 
taint,  and  shuns  as  she  would  a  leper  the  man  who  has  been  false 
to  any  other  woman,  no  matter  how  depraved  ;  when  he  who 
seeks  life’s  highest  sanctities  in  the  relationships  of  husband  and 
father,  shuns  as  he  would  if  thoughtful  of  his  future  son  the 


698  Christ's  Kingdom  Means  Universal  Brotherhood. 

woman  with  wasp-waist  that  renders  motherhood  a  torture  and 
dwarfs  the  possibilities  of  childhood,  French  heels  that  throw 
the  vital  organs  out  of  their  normal  place,  and  sacred  charms 
revealed  by  dresses  decollete,  insisting  on  a  wife  who  has  good 
health  and  a  strong  physique  as  the  only  sure  foundation  of  his 
home-hopes, — then  shall  the  blessed  prophecy  of  the  world’s  peace 
come  true ;  the  conquered  lion  of  lust  shall  lie  down  at  the  feet 
of  the  white  lamb  of  purity  and  a  little  child  shall  lead  them. 

Forces  of  infinite  variety  conspire  to  bring  in  the  kingdom  to 
which  poets,  orators,  philosophers,  philanthropists  and  statesmen 
have  looked  with  longing  eyes  since  humanity  .set  forth  on  its 
mystical  career.  If  this  true  .story  of  my  life  has  any  force  at  all, 
I  pray  that  it  may  help  to  hasten  the  coming  of  Christ’s  King¬ 
dom,  whose  visible  token  is  universal  brotherhood ;  the  blessed 
time  drawing  nearer  to  us  every  day,  when  in  the  most  practical 
sense  and  by  the  very  constitution  of  society  and  government, 
“  all  men’s  weal  shall  be  each  man’s  care.” 


APPENDIX 


ancestry. 


J  Jf 

'/'---''<ffijf5ff&'*e  f,*i 


t  ‘  Z  *  • 

rS*.~  - 


My  good  friends ,  .S'.  Millett  Thompson,  of  Providence ,  A\  /.,  and  Mrs. 
fane  Eggleston  Zimmerman,  of  Evanston,  III.  have  prepared  the  data 
for  this  chapter. — F.  E.  W. 


ANCESTRY. 


In  the  suburbs  of  the  classic  town  of  Concord,  Mass.,  on  a  granite 
bowlder  by  the  roadside,  is  the  inscription  given  in  the  picture  on  the  pre¬ 
ceding  page. 

Major  Simon  Willard  came  from  Horsmonden,  Kent  county,  England, 
in  1634,  aged  thirty-one.  The  name  has  been  known  on  English  .soil  for 
eight  hundred  years,  being  five  times  recorded  in  the  Doomsday  book.  All 
the  American  Willards  are  his  descendants.  The  family  memoir,  written 
by  Joseph  Willard,  of  Boston,  says  : 

The  will  of  Richard  Willard,  of  Horstnonden,  father  of  Simon,  shows  him  to  have  been 
a  man  of  very  good  landed  estate.  The  wording  of  the  will  shows  that  he  designed  this 
son,  not  his  eidest,  but  an  issue  of  his  isecond  marriage,  to  succeed  him  as  the  principal 
landholder  in  the  family.  His  designs  were  defeated,  however,  by  the  removal  of  his  son 
to  New  England. 

Simon  Willard,  born  in  the  early  part  of  1605,  became  in  his  manhood  a  very  thorough 
Puritan.  New  England  offered  the  only  asylum  where  he  could  enjoy  his  religious  opin¬ 
ions  undisturbed  and  unquestioned,  and  thither  he  determined  to  proceed  with  his  family. 

Various  restrictions  upon  emigration  were  rigidly  enforced  during  the  greater  part  of 
the  time  from  1630  until  the  power  of  the  king  began  to  sink,  and  that  of  Parliament  to 
rise  upon  its  ruins.  Persons  intending  to  remove  to  New  England  were  not  allowed  to 
embark  until  they  had  obtained  from  the  local  authorities  certificates  of  uniformity  to  the 
orders  and  discipline  of  the  Church  of  England,  and  of  having  taken  the  oaths  of  allegiance 
and  supremacjr.  Other  vexatious  restraints  were  in  like  manner  imposed.  *  *  * 

Winthrop  tells  us,  under  date  of  July,  1634,  that  “  it  appeared  by  many  private  letters  that 
the  departure  of  so  many  of  the  best,  both  ministers  and  Christians,  had  bred  sad  thoughts 
in  those  behind,  of  the  Lord’s  intentions  in  this  work,  and  an  apprehension  of  some  evil 
days  to  come  upon  England.  Then  it  began  to  be  apprehended  by  the  archbishops  and 
others  of  the  council  as  a  matter  of  state,  so  as  they  sent  out  warrants  to  stay  the  ships, 
and  to  call  in  our  patent ;  but  upon  petition  of  the  shipmasters  (attesting  how  beneficial 
this  plantation  was  to  England)  in  regard  of  the  Newfoundland  fishing,  which  they  took  on 
their  way  homeward,  the  ships  were  at  that  time  released.”  Simon  Willard  probably  came 
over  in  this  fleet. 

His  wife,  Mary  Sharpe,  born  at  Horsmonden,  in  1614,  daughter  of  Henry  Sharpe  and 
Jane  Fejdde,  was  twenty  years  old  when  she  accompanied  her  husband  to  America.  Simon 
Willard  established  himself  on  one  hundred  acres  on  the  Brighton  side  of  Charles  River, 
at  Cambridge. 

The  following  year,  1635,  in  company  with  Rev.  Peter  Bulkely,  a  man  of  great  learning 
and  large  heart,  of  noble  family,  and  distinguished  as  a  divine,  who  had  lately  come  from 
England,  Simon  Willard  and  twelve  others,  with  their  families,  obtained  a  grant  of  “six 
miles  square  upon  the  river”  at  a  place  called  Musketaquid,  where  they,  amid  great  hard¬ 
ships  and  difficulties,  established  the  town  of  Concord.  Immediately  upon  the  organiza¬ 
tion  of  the  town,  Simon  Willard  was  appointed  “  Clerk  of  the  Writs,”  and  continued  in 
that  office,  by  annual  election,  for  nineteen  years.  His  military  service  was  continuous  for 
forty  years,  until  his  death.  At  the  earliest  election  made  by  the  town  (1636)  he  was  choseu 
as  deputy  to  the  General  Court,  and  was  re-elected  every  year,  with  three  exceptions,  till 
1654,  a  term  of  eighteen  years.  He  also  held  the  office  of  commissioner  for  three  years,  and 
was  associated  with  Apostle  Eliot  and  Major  Gookin  in  their  friendly  missions  with  the 
Indians.  The  court  appointed  him,  under  the  title  of  Lieutenant  Willard,  with  John 
Holeman  and  Richard  Collecott,  to  form  a  company  for  trading  with  the  Indians,  forbid¬ 
ding  all  others,  except  such  as  they  should  choose,  to  trade  in  furs  or  wampum  with  the 
native  tribes. 

The  early  history  of  Massachusetts  is  full  of  allusions  to  the  many  and  varied  services 
of  Major  Willard  in  an  official  capacity,  all  reflecting  high  honor  upon  his  character  as  a 
man  of  integrity,  ability  and  energy.  His  name  also  appears  among  those  of  the  mem¬ 
bers  of  the  General  Court  who  so  steadily  resisted  the  commissioners  sent  out  by  Charles 
II.  to  look  into  the  affairs  of  the  colonies,  whose  attitude  of  loyalty  was  seriously  questioned* 
The  commissioners  were  baffled  at  every  point,  the  General  Court  resisting  every  infringe¬ 
ment  of  their  patent,  indeed,  hardly  stopping  at  that,  being  determined  to  maintain  every 
sight  they  had  hitherto  enjoyed. 


(2) 


Ancestry. 


3 


At  the  outbreak  of  King  Philip’s  war,  we  find  Major  Willard,  a  man  of  seventy  years, 
in  active  service,  filling  important  posts  of  duty,  and  enduring  hardships  which  might 
well  have  been  the  death  of  many  a  younger  man'.  Although  past  the  age  of  legal  military 
service,  having,  as  we  have  seen,  done  his  full  share  of  public  duty  for  the  infant  colony, 
and  suffered  also  his  full  share  of  privation  and  exposure,  he  seems  to  have  undertaken  all 
the  military  duty  falling  to  a  soldier  of  his  prominence,  giving  his  inestimable  services 
freely  and  unstihtingly.  Major  Willard  was  looking  forward  to  a  further  term  of  service 
in  civil  life  as  an  assistant  adjutant,  and  in  military  life  to  continued  exertion  in  the  field 
against  an  enemy  still  active  and  destructive.  But,  in  this  last  year,  an  unusual  load  of 
care,  with  its  train  of  anxieties,  added  to  the  hazards  of  an  intense  'winter,  to  which  he  was 
so  often  exposed  on  the  journey  or  on  the  march  in  long  continued  absences  from  his  cher¬ 
ished  home,  must  have  rendered  him  easily  accessible  to  the  attacks  of  active  disease.  '  It 
so  happened  in  the  spring-time  of  this  year,  in  the  order  of  Providence,  that  there  was  an 
unusual  amount  of  sickness.  Scarcely  a  hearthstone  in  New  England  escaped  the  visita¬ 
tion.  *  *  *  The  disease  was  an  epidemic  cold  of  a  very  malignant  type,  and  to  this 
disease,  after  a  short  illness,  Major  Willard  fell  a  victim  at  Charlestown,  on  Monday,  the 
24th  day  of  April  (corresponding  to  May  4,  new  .style),  1676,  in  the  seventy-second  year  of 
his  age.  *  *  *  Increase  Mather,  in  lamenting  over  the  widespread  desolation  caused  by 
this  pestilence,  occurring  as  it  did  during  the  gloomy  period  of  a  war  in  which  some  six 
hundred  persons  had  fallen  a  sacrifice,  remarks  :  “  There  have  been  many  sick  and  weak, 
and  many  have  fallen  asleep ;  yea,  eminent  and  useful  instruments  hath  the  Ivord  re¬ 
moved.  *  *  *  This  colony  of  Massachusetts  hath  been  bereaved  of  two,  viz.,  Major 

Willard  and  Mr.  Russell,  who  for  many  years  had  approved  themselves  faithful  in  the 
magistracy,  and  the  death  of  a  few  such  is  as  much  as  if  thousands  had  fallen.” 

The  memoir  further  says  : 

Early  called  into  the  public  service,  disciplined  by  the  teachings  of  toil,  deprivation, 
and  varied  experience,  with  his  character  and  capacity  well  understood  and  valued,  it  was 
a  natural  sequence  that  he  should  retain  his  hold  upon  the  confidence  and  affection  of  an 
enlightened  community  throughout  all  the  emergencies  of  a  new  state,  in  important  trusts 
as  legislator,  judge  and  military  commander  until  his  death.  This,  as  we  have  seen,  was 
no  light  or  easy  service.  It  engrossed,  doubtless,  a  large  part  of  his  time  and  attention  ; 
certainly  so  after  he  was  called  to  the  Council  in  1654,  and  thence  until  his  death  in  1676.  It 
took  him  away  from  his  family,  from  the  cultivation  of  his  estate,  and  from  special  atten¬ 
tion  to  his  private  interests.  He  must  be  present  at  every  session  of  the  General  Court, 
every  meeting  of  the  Governor  and  Council,  at  the  terms  of  the  Court  of  Assistants  and  of 
the  County  Court.  From  1634-1636  the  sessions  of  the  General  Court  were  quarterly,  and 
afterward  semi-annually.  The  meetings  of  the  Governor  and  Council  were  to  be  held 
monthly,  according  to  the  provision  of  the  charter.  As  a  judicial  tribunal,  their  terms  were 
quarterly.  The  Major  attended  the  County  Court  in  Middlesex,  probably  between  seventy 
and  eighty  terms.  *  *  *  Add  to  this,  the  numerous  meetings  of  committees,  in  and 

out  of  legislative  sessions  ;  and  in  military  matters,  the  time  necessarily  occupied  in  attend¬ 
ing  to  the  minute  and  detailed  provisions  of  the  laws  in  the  organization,  equipment,  dis¬ 
cipline  and  mustering  —  first,  of  his  company  and  afterward  of  his  regiment  — for  a  period 
of  forty  years. 

Again  we  quote  the  memoir  : 

Fathers  are  often  said,  and  truly,  to  live  again  in  their  children  :  and  traits  of  char¬ 
acter  descend  through  several  generations,  distinctly  brought  out  in  many  instances,  and  in 
others  still  somewhat  prominent,  but  modified  by  circumstances.  Thus  we  may  suppose  that 
Samuel,  the  most  distinguished  son  of  his  father,  inherited  that  mildness,  as  well  as  firm¬ 
ness  and  noble  independence  which  universal  testimony  concedes  to  him.  I  may  add,  that 
so  far  as  my  observation  extends,  and  so  far  as  we  can  predicate  any  quality  of  an  entire 
genus,  this  temperament  belongs  to  the  present  generation  of  the  family. 

Major  Willard  lived  in  Lancaster  and  Groton,  Mass.,  as  well  as  in  Con¬ 
cord.  Among  his  immediate  descendants  are  two  presidents  of  Harvard 
University,  also  Rev.  Samuel  Willard,  pastor  of  the  Old  South  Church,  Bos¬ 
ton,  who  opposed  the  hanging  of  the  witches;  and  Solomon  Willard,  of 
Quincy,  Mass.,  the  architect  of  Bunker  Hill  Monument,  who  refused  to  ac¬ 
cept  pay  for  his  services,  and  of  whom  Edward  Everett  said  that  “  his  chief 
characteristic  was  that  he  wanted  to  do  everything  for  everybody  for  noth¬ 
ing.”  Rev.  Samuel  and  Solomon  were  brothers  of  Deacon  Cephas  Willard, 
of  Petersham,  Mass.,  who  died  at  ninety-three  years  old,  having  served  the 
Unitarian  church  there  as  deacon  fifty-six  years. 

My  own  line  of  descent  is  from  Henry,  fourth  son  of  the  major,  whose 
mother  was  Mary  Dunster,  sister  of  President  Dunster  of  Harvard  University. 
The  order  is  as  follows : 

1  Simon,  2Henry,  3Henry,  4Abram,  5Elijah,  601iver  Atherton,  rJosiah 
Flint,  8  Frances  Elizabeth. 

As  the  derivation  of  family  names  is  largely  fanciful,  I  have  chosen  to 


A 


Ancestry . 


think  of  mine  as  meaning  “  One  who  wills  ”  ;  Joseph  Cook  makes  it  signify 
“will-hard” — and  either  definition  is  acceptable.  My  great  great-grand¬ 
father,  Abram  Willard  (great-grandson  of  Simon),  died  in  the  American  army 
during  tlie  French  war.  His  home  was  Harvard,  Mass.,  where  my  great¬ 
grandfather,  Elijah  Willard,  was  born,  March,  1751.  Elijah  died  at  Dublin, 
N.  H.,  August  1 9,  1-839,  six  weeks  before  my  birth.  He  was  forty  years  a 
Baptist  minister  in  Dublin,  and  even  at  the  advanced  age  of  eighty-eight, 
only  four  weeks  previous  to  his  departure  from  this  world,  he  preached  a 
funeral  sermon.  He  was  three  times  married,  his  first  wife,  Mary  Atherton, 
being  the  mother  of  my  grandfather,  Oliver  Atherton.  He  served  in  the 
Revolutionary  war.  His  ministry  at  Dublin,  near  Keene,  N.  H.,  was  faith¬ 
ful  and  long. 

The  following  droll  story  is  told  of  his  powers  as  a  peace-maker.  A 
member  of  his  church  had  called  another  “an  old  skinflint,”  whereupon 
accusation  was  brought  by  the  offended  party.  When  the  authorities  of  the 
church  'were  sitting  in  council  on  this  grave  piece  of  indecorum,  Elder  Will¬ 
ard  suggested,  in  his  character  of  presiding  officer,  that  they  should  look  in 
the  dictionary  and  see  what  a  skinflint  was.  This  met  with  great  favor. 
But  lo,  and  behold  !  there  was  no  such  word  in  the  book  referred  to.  The 
elder  then  said,  that  inasmuch  as  there  was  no  definition  there  given,  he 
would  appeal  to  the  brother  who  had  used  the  word  to  give  the  definition. 
This  was  done,  the  brother  replying  :  “Why,  Elder,  what  I  meant  was  that 
Brother  Blank  is  a  downright  clever  sort  of  a  man.”  At  this  they  shook 
hands,  and  the  church  quarrel  was  at  an  end.  It  is  shrewdly  suspected  by 
some  that  Elder  Willard  cooked  up  this  reconciliation,  dictionary  and  all. 

My  grandfather,  Oliver  Atherton  Willard,  married  Catherine  Lewis,  one 
of  the  twelve  children  of  Captain  Lewis,  who  fought  in  the  Revolutionary 
war  and  whose  wife  was  Martha  Collins,  of  Southboro’,  Mass.,  where  she 
married  James  Lewis,  September  5,  1753,  and  remained  there  until  1771, 
when  they  removed  to  Marlboro,  N.  H.  Immediately  after  their  marriage 
Oliver  A.  Willard  and  Catherine  Lewis  went  with  other  pioneers  to  Wheelock, 
Vt.,  where  my  father,  Josiah  Flint  Willard,  named  for  a  maternal  uncle,  was 
born,  November  7,  1S05.  His  mother  was  a  woman  of  great  force  of  char¬ 
acter,  piquant  and  entertaining ;  the  finest  singer  in  the  county.  The  family 
lived  within  a  few  miles  of  my  mother’s  but  never  met  until  both  went  on 
runners  across  the  snow  to  Ogden,  Monroe  county,  N.  Y.  (two  miles  from 
Churchville),  in  1816,  where  they  were  neighbors  and  friends,  the  Willard 
brothers,  Josiah  and  Zophar,  marrying  two  of  Deacon  John  Hill’s  daughters, 
Mary  (my  mother)  and  Abigail.  Grandmother  Willard  became  an  invalid 
in  middle  life  and  died  at  the  age  of  seventy-seven. 

My  mother’s  line  of  ancestry  is  more  difficult  to  trace,  the  names  in¬ 
volved  being  those  of  much  larger  families. 

Her  grandparents  were  Samuel  Hill,  born  in  Lee,  N.  II.,  October  6, 
1720,  and  Abigail  Huchins,  born  in  Lee,  February  20,  1733.  Samuel  died 
in  Danville,  Vt.,  and  Abigail  in  Ogden.  N.  Y.,  in  1829.  Mother’s  father  was 
John  Hill,  of  Lee,  N.  H. 

Traditions  concerning:  the  great  bodily  strength,  agility  and  intense  energy  of  some  of 
the  members  of  the  family  at  Durham  still  exist,  and  notably  of  Samuel  Hill,  who  was 
quite  a  giant  in  his  way  ;  and  the  family  generally  are  represented  as  excelling  in  those 
brave,  manly  and  strong  qualities  which  make  successful  pioneers  in  a  new  country ;  while 
their  generally  great  longevity  stands  as  proof  positive  of  their  good  habits  in  temperance, 
peacefulness  and  moderation.  They  were  ready  to  defend  their  homes  and  honor,  how¬ 
ever,  at  all  hazards  ;  quite  an  extended  list  of  their  names  appears  in  the  early  Colonial 
military  roster,  and  I  still  have  in  my  possession  the  signatures  of  three  of  the  Hills  of  Dur¬ 
ham  and  I,ee — Nathaniel,  Robert  and  John— all  three  probably  the  sons,  or  grandsons,  of 
Nathaniel.  They  joined  a  volunteer  organization  of  patriot  minute-men  in  Durham, 
June  29,  1775. 

As  a  rule,  the  Hills  were  well-to-do,  had  a  fondness  for  mills,  machinery  and  mechani¬ 
cal  pursuits,  most  of  them  owning  and  cultivating  large  or  good-sized  farms.  Many  of 
them  removed  early  and  settled  in  the  interior  of  New  Hampshire  and  Vermont. 


Ancestry. 


5 


My  great-grandfather  Hill  was  a  man  of  most  self-sacrificing  integrity. 
When,  rather  early  in  his  career,  he  had  become  security  for  a  friend,  who 
failed,  men  of  good  conscience  came  to  him  urging  that  a  man’s  family  was 
“  a  preferred  creditor  ”  in  all  business  relations,  and  that  he  should  refuse  to 
give  up  all  he  had  to  satisfy  another  man’s  creditors.  But  he  was  a  man  of 
clean  hands  —  swearing  to  his  own  hurt  and  changing  not.  He  only 
answered,  “  It  is  the  nature  of  a  bondsman  when  the  principal  fails  to  stand 
in  the  gap.”  And  so  he  stood  in  the  gap,  losing  all  his  fortune  rather  than 
fail  to  be  true  to  the  implied  promise  of  his  bond. 

This  good  man’s  wife,  Abigail  Huchins,  wras  a  woman  of  strong  character, 
and  firm  of  will  and  action.  It  is  related  of  her,  that  when  a  young  girl, 
she  was  alone  in  the  house  one  day  just  as  a  storm  was  coming  up.  A  man 
somewhat  off  his  mental  balance  came  to  the  door  and  exclaimed,  “I  am  the 
author  of  this  storm  !  ”  “If  you  are,  then  you  are  the  Prince  of  the  Power 
of  the  Air,”  said  the  young  girl,  “  and  you  sha’n’tstay  in  this  house,”  and 
she  resolutely  drove  him  off. 

Concerning  these  ancestors,  notable  in  character,  mother  writes  : 

My  grandfather  Hill  was  a  man  of  meditative  habit  of  mind,  almost  morbidly  con¬ 
scientious,  with  intense  spiritual  convictions,  and  strong  religious  faith.  He  prayed  inces¬ 
santly  for  his  children,  until  he  received  the  evidence  that  they  would  all  be  saved.  He  died 
before  my  remembrance. 

My  grandmother  Hill  who  lived  with  my  parents  till  I  was  a  young  lady  in  the  twen¬ 
ties,  and  died  at  the  age  of  ninety-seven  years,  was  a  woman  of  sanguine  temperament, 
strong  every  way,  strong  of  heart,  strong  of  mind,  strong  in  moral  and  religious  convic¬ 
tions — a  Whitefield  Congregationalism 

My  father  was  like  his  mother,  a  sort  of  Hercules.  When  a  child  I  had  no  idea  there 
was  a  power  in  the  universe  that  could  attack  him  successfully.  I  felt  safe  in  the  thunder¬ 
storm  if  he  were  near.  He  was  very  fond  of  his  children  and  we  felt  that  he  stood  between 
us  and  all  trouble.  He  was  a  zealous  and  active  Christian  of  the  Freewill  Baptist  church. 
I  can  do  no  justice  to  my  mother’s  character,  it  was  such  a  rare  combination  of  excellen¬ 
cies — religious,  devotional,  cheerful,  industrious,  frugal,  hopeful,  buoyant,  mirthful  at 
times,  loving  and  lovable  always  ;  my  father’s  heart  did  safely  trust  in  her,  so  did  her  chil¬ 
dren  and  friends.  She  was  a  member  of  the  Freewill  Baptist  church. 

A  sister  of  my  father  married  Uncle  Clements,  and  one  of  my  most  valued  cousins  was 
Rev.  Dr.  Jonathan  Clements,  at  one  time  Principal  of  Phillips  Academy,  at  Andover.  He 
was  an  uncle  of  Rev  Dr.  Phillips  Brooks  and  a  teacher  of  Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

The  Thompsons  were  from  Scotland,  and  tradition  says  from  the  County 
of  Cromarty.  The  name  is  patronymic  from  Thom,  the  head  of  a  Norse  fam¬ 
ily,  and,  though  widespread,  stands  only  twenty-first  in  the  list  of  common 
names.  The  line  runs  thus  :  David  Thompson,  Gent.,  a  Scotchman  who 
settled  on  Thompson’s  Island,  so  named  for  himself,  in  Boston  Harbor,  in 
May,  1619,  a  year  and  a  half  before  the  Pilgrims  landed  at  Plymouth,  thus 
being,  as  the  Dorchester  Historical  Society  affirms,  4  4  The  first  recorded  per¬ 
manent  white  resident  of  Boston  Harbor.”  David  died  in  1628,  leaving  an 
infant  son,  John  Thompson,  of  Piscataqua.  His  son,  John  Thompson,  Sr., 
of  Durham,  died  in  1734.  His  son,  John  Thompson,  Jr.,  of  Durham, 
died  in  1727.  Next  comes  his  son,  my  mother’s  maternal  grandfather, 
Nathanael  Thompson  (or  Nathaniel)  of  Durham,  N.  H.,  baptized  by  Rev. 
Hugh  Adams,  May  29,  1726,  an  44  infant.”  He  was  a  trader,  millwright  and 
shipwright;  settled  in  Holderness,  now  Ashland,  N.  H.,  (after  living  at 
Portsmouth,  N.  H.),  where  he  was  an  importer.  He  lost  his  property  and 
was  killed  in  the  launching  of  a  ship.  He  married  Elizabeth  Stevens, 
of  Newburyport,  Mass.  ^ 

He  was  once  at  a  dinner  where  everybody  was  a  Tory  and  drank  the 
health  of  the  tyrant  whom  Americans  were  fighting,  and  said,  as  they  clinked 
their  glasses,  41  King  George’s  health,  and  it  shall  go  round,”  whereupon 
Grandfather  Thompson  cried  out,  “Washington’s  health,  and  it  shall  go 
round !  ”  But  the  disloyal  Tories  struck  him,  drove  him  from  the  room,  and 
even  threatened  his  life. 

The  best  testimony  to  this  man’s  character  is  found  in  the  following 
extracts  from  his  will.  Being  wounded  and  unable  to  reach  home,  three 
days  before  his  death  he  dictated  the  following  : 


6 


Ancestry . 


“  Letter  of  Nathaniel  Thompson  to  Elizabeth  Thompson,  his  wife,  dated  Durham, 
N.  H.,  June  24,  1785  :  Three  days  since,  I  now  conclude,  I  received  my  mortal  wound  ;  and 
expecting  soon  to  take  my  final  and  long  farewell  of  Time,  I  now  send  you  ray  affection¬ 
ate,  dying  care.  I  feel  the  most  tender  sympathy  for  the  disconsolate  situation  in  which 
you  are  to  be  left,  as  a  bereaved  widow,  with  a  number  of  young  children.  I  exhort  you 
to  put  your  trust  in  God,  who  is  the  God  of  the  widow  in  his  holy  habitation.  And  it  is 
now  my  last  prayer  and  earnest  request  that  you  may  teach  them  to  love  and  fear  the 
King  of  Glory,  and  bring  them  up  in  the  nurture  and  admonition  of  the  Lord.  And  in 
my  name  I  request  you  to  exhort  my  two  eldest  sons,  in  particular,  by  no  means  to  fre¬ 
quent  evil  company,  or  to  follow  trading  in  horses,  which,  I  conceive,  is  attended  with 
many  temptations  ruinous  to  the  souls  and  bodies  of  youth.  And  it  is  my  dying  request 
they  would  exercise  all  possible  kindness  to  their  mother  in  her  bereaved  state  and  mani¬ 
fest  all  friendly,  brotherly  affection  toward  my  other  children.  And  above  everything 
which  can  be  named,  O  that  my  children  may  remember  their  Creator  in  the  days  of  their 
youth  !  and  often  recollect  and  observe  the  counsels  and  advice  of  their  kind  father  while 
he  was  with  them.” 

These  were  the  last  words  of  a  man  mortally  wounded,  and  they  are 
full  of  Christian  faith  and  fortitude. 

Of  her  mother,  Polly  Thompson,  daughter  of  the  heroic  Nathaniel,  my 
mother  has  always  spoken  in  terms  that  surprised  me  by  their  delineation 
of  a  character  almost  angelic.  My  cousin,  Sarah  Dusinbury,  from  the  old 
homestead,  sends  me  the  following  peep  into  the  home  life  of  these  revered 
grandparents  : 

About  that  spinning  wheel  of  your  grandmother  Hill’s  that  you  found  in  our  garret 
and  carried  away,  I  asked  Aunt  Sarah  if  she  could  furnish  interesting  facts.  She  said  that 
all  she  knew  was  that  it  was  brought  by  your  grandmother  from  Vermont,  and  that  she 
used  always  on  winter  evenings  to  draw  it  up  by  the  fireplace  and  spin  a  “  run  of  flax  ”  be¬ 
fore  retiring ;  and  that  grandfather  at  the  same  time  read  aloud  from  the  large  Bible 
placed  on  a  small  stand  at  the  other  corner  of  the  hearth,  the  low  hum  of  her  wheel  not 
disturbing  his  reading  or  his  after  conversation  on  the  Scripture  which  he  had  read. 
“  Hum,  hum,  hum,  hum,”  as  easily  and  almost  as  noiselessly  as  one  would  ply  the  knitting 
needles,  she  spun  the  whole  evening  through  ;  for  women  must  work  in  those  days,  early 
and  late,  or  their  families  would  suffer.  Ah  !  what  do  we  not  owe  to  the  patient,  toiling, 
pious  grandmother  !  I  wonder  if  my  grandchildren  will  ever  know  aught  of  me  so  worthy 
of  their  admiration  ?  Probably  not ;  such  timber  as  our  grandparents  were  made  of  is  scarce 
in  these  days. 

My  mother  has  always  told  me  that  there  was  Irish  blood  in  my  veins 
from  my  adorable  maternal  grandmother. 

John  Hill  and  Polly  Thompson  were  married  February  4,  1796,  and  re¬ 
moved  to  Danville,  Vt.,  where  my  mother,  Mary  Thompson  Hill,  was  born 
January  3,  1805.  My  father  was  born  in  Wheelock,  Vt.,  November  7,  1805, 
and  they  were  married  in  Ogden  (near  Churchy^lle, )  N.  Y.f  November  4, 
1831. 


134 1  103 


NORTHF" ST 


LIBRARY  BINDING  CO.  INC 


MAY 


i=»/9 


MEDFORD,  MASS. 


WILLARD . 

5232 

.W6 

A3 


Bapst  Library 

Boston  College 
Chestnut  Hill,  Mass.  02167 


